Point of Madness
by bean21
Summary: With one hand he clung to the daughter who couldn't remember him. With the other he reached out to the stranger who could, just maybe, help him accomplish the impossible. Never had he struggled so hard against the madness. Never had it threatened so strongly to overwhelm him.
1. Prologue: Tick Tock

Carefully he set the latest top hat on the glass shelf, examining its reflection. Black. Silk Lining. A thick ribbon. _In this style, 10/6, _his mind whispered. It was exactly identical to all its counterparts lined up beside it. Absolutely useless.

Turning automatically to the telescope trained on the house across the street, he sighed. She was at a friend's house tonight. He would have to wait before he saw her again. The kettle was shrieking from the kitchen, anyways.

Time for tea. Again.

He carried the white china cup into the living room and reclined on a sofa. An ironic grin turned up the corner of his mouth as his eye fell on the book on his coffee table. It opened to the same old spot as soon as he picked it up. "A Mad Tea Party," indeed.

"_Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse," said the Hatter, "when the Queen bawled out 'He's murdering the time! Off with his head!'"_

"_How dreadfully savage!" exclaimed Alice. _

"_And ever since that," the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, "he [Time] won't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now." _

"You were close, Mr. Carroll," he whispered. "But it's closer to the truth now than it was then."

His eyes shifted upward to the elaborate clock on his wall. 8:15. Always 8:15. For twenty-eight years, nothing had ever changed. Nothing ever would. Slowly he sipped his tea, watching the frozen clock, daydreaming as he stared at its hands, losing himself in memories as the minute hand ticked down one notch.

He jumped off the couch, eyes glued on the clock. The tea he had spilt had a full minute to seep into his carpet as he stared, unwilling to blink, until finally the clock ticked down to 8:17.

A grin crept slowly across Jefferson's face.

...

A/N - To be continued...


	2. So Close

The stone felt cool under Jefferson's skin, despite the heat of the day. His restless fingers wandered around in random patterns on the smooth surface of the step. Sitting on his front porch, he stared at nothing and thought about everything. For the past few days a thousand questions had been spinning in his mind, yet all he could seem to think about now was how the stone beneath his finger felt eerily like the silk he used on his hats. Or the silk of his scarves.

His fingers stopped their wandering, moving slowly from the cool stone to his sweaty neck. He tugged at the scarf, feeling stifled, strangled – decapitated. A familiar feeling. Two fingers slid under the black scarf, moving along the uncannily smooth and rugged scar running across his neck.

_Off with his head._

The need to hide the scar had always been obvious to him. It would raise too many questions. Not that he was ever around people who could ask them. He was never around people at all, if he could help it. But still, the scar stayed hidden. Maybe he was hiding it from himself. It was hard to say.

Thankfully, Storybrooke's gloomy weather was usually condusive to scarves and coats. But on the rare, stiflingly hot days like today, his lavish custom-made clothes were unbearable.

Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the forest around him. The heat always brought out the forest's richest, most earthy smells. On the hottest days, he and his Grace would leave their little cottage and hike to the lake, often bringing their food with them and staying by its cool waters all day long. He could see her now, tucking up her skirts and dipping her bare feet in the water, resting them on slippery rocks covered in thick, slimy moss. He could hear her laughing, calling to him . . .

"Hello, Mr. Jefferson."

Eyes snapping open, he jumped to his feet. He stumbled backwards up the steps, reaching his hand out to one of the stone columns, trying to steady himself.

She was standing in front of him.

"Hello," she repeated, a hint of uncertainty in her sweet voice.

He knew he should answer her. A smile, a nod, _anything_. He couldn't scare her away, couldn't lose her. But this was the first time she'd spoken to him, even looked at him, in twenty-eight years. All he could do was stare at her, breathing heavily, unsure whether he was falling into a dark hole or being pulled out of one.

"Um, I'm Paige," she continued slowly, staring at him with what seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and fear. "I live just down the street, with my parents. We've been your neighbors as long as I can remember, but I've never actually met you. I'm on my way to school, so I just thought I'd say hello."

Swallowing hard, he managed a brief nod. She smiled a little, then turned to leave.

_Grace . . . _

"Paige!"

She turned back to him, obviously startled. Still, she simply looked into his eyes with the brave, wide-eyed curiosity he'd seen a thousand times.

"Thank you," he choked out. "Please . . . please say 'hi' whenever you want."

She smiled, waved, then turned and walked away from him.

Jefferson sank back down to the steps, holding his head in both hands. Regina hadn't missed a beat. She'd given him all anyone could ask for – and enough to keep him quiet – when she'd brought him here with the curse. He had a mansion, lived alone on the edge of town, and had a fortune large enough to keep him from needing to work or interact with anyone else. But Regina had also known exactly how to torture him in the most painful way possible. For nearly three decades he had sat by and simply watched the one he loved more than anything else. He had watched her believe that the friends who had once been neighbors were her true parents. He had watched her live every day with no idea that he existed. She was always so close, but he had been powerless to reach out to her.

Until now.

Ever since the clock had ticked, he'd known something was different. It only took one trip into town to hear about the arrival of a certain Emma Swan, and it hadn't taken much effort to keep tabs on her since then. This Emma certainly had Regina up in arms. No wonder, when she was starting time again and turning the town – and possibly the curse – on its head. This girl was special. She had magic.

Finally, after years of watching, it was time to act. It was time for everything to change.


	3. The Mad Tea Party

"Anything else for you?"

Ruby tapped her pen absentmindedly against her clipboard as she looked down at the only customer left in Granny's Diner.

"No. Just the tea."

The pen stopped tapping as Ruby put a hand on her hip.

"Really? That's what you're going to go with?" she asked with a grin. "Come on. I'd never seen you before in my life, then randomly one night you come in here at seven, stay till ten, then order tea. It was weird, but not a problem. But the fact that you've done the same thing every night for a week is getting suspicious. Plus, between the clothes you wear and the tips you leave, you're obviously rich. And then you barely say two words whenever you come in. Top it all off with the fact that I still have no idea what your name is. All in all, you're becoming quite the mystery to me and Granny."

Jefferson didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a grin that was both amused and sarcastic.

"Do you always interrogate your customers?" he asked, lifting the tea to his lips.

"No – just the mysterious ones who sit alone in the corner for hours and leave generous tips for their nightly cup of tea."

Meeting Ruby's joking glance, Jefferson flashed a brilliantly white smile. "Fair enough. Keep letting me in here and making my tea, and I promise to tell you my name . . . soon."

Ruby shrugged, set the check on the shiny table-top, then turned to go. Just as she got to the counter, the bell on the door jingled and a cold breeze blew in. Without raising his eyes, Jefferson took another sip of tea.

"Mr. Gold!" Ruby exclaimed. "Um, can I get you something?"

"No thank you, Ruby." The voice that answered was quiet, with just a hint of an accent. "Why don't you go on into the back and see if your Granny needs help with something?"

As Ruby disappeared into the back of the diner, Jefferson listened to the soft _thunk _of footsteps accompanied by the light _clink _of a cane move closer to him.

"Well, well. And who have we here?"

"My name is Jefferson. But you already knew that, didn't you, Mr. Gold?"

Jefferson finally looked up as Mr. Gold slid into the booth across from him. "Well, I did know a Jefferson, once. You remind me of him. But that was long ago. I've never been introduced to you in all my time in Storybrooke. But I've heard of you, and you never struck me as the gossiping type. Until now."

Mr. Gold leaned across the table, his voice becoming quieter and more intense. "You've been in here every night, listening. You've been watching me. I want to know why."

Jefferson smiled, keeping a friendly and casual air. "I'm curious."

"Oh yeah," Mr. Gold responded, leaning back with the ghost of a smile. "Curiouser and curiouser."

Jefferson's smile faded. "Tell me," he said slowly and quietly, "how is business at the pawn shop? You must do well there. You've always been one for making deals. Are you still in the hat business? You _did _give away a hat once, didn't you?"

"Well, I never _give _things away. You should know that. I imagine you know it very well, in fact." Mr. Gold dropped his voice to a whisper, his facial expression unreadable. "There's _always _a price. I believe the man I gave that hat to paid more than he bargained for."

Jefferson slammed his fist on the table, sloshing tea onto its surface. He leaned in, his voice only a whisper, yet shaking with his intensity. "Enough games. Obviously you _do _remember."

"As do you, dearie," Mr. Gold answered calmly, also in a whisper.

"Does she know that you remember?"

"Our dear mayor?" Gold smiled wider. "In case you haven't noticed, she's been just a bit preoccupied. It's a wonder she hasn't noticed you snooping around yet. So what exactly are you after, Jefferson?"

"That's not the question, Gold. What are _you _after? You're always up to your elbows in whatever's going on, getting what you want out of it. But right now, you're working with Emma. You're trying to get her elected Sherriff. You want her to stay. That's enough to make me suggest we may be after the same thing."

Gold's smile became both bitter and mocking. "Are you trying to make a deal?"

Jefferson sat back with a look of distaste. "Hardly. I'm done making deals with you. But I do want to know if I'm alone in this or not."

A strange, sad look passed over Gold's face. "You and I are too much the same," he whispered.

"Why do you say that?"

The sad look became bitter. "Let's just say I know how to recognize a desperate soul." Mr. Gold quickly stood up from the booth. "Don't underestimate what's happening here," he whispered. "Know the game that you're playing. Know who you're up against. And be careful what cards you play, Hatter. This game may be bigger than you realize."

At that moment the bell on the door rang again. Both men looked up into the startled face of Regina.


	4. Old Aquaintances

The last echoes of the bell on the door of Granny's Diner sounded loud and harsh in the dead silence. Regina had stopped just inside, mouth slightly open, eyes darting quickly back and forth between Mr. Gold and Jefferson. Watching her closely, Jefferson could tell that she had been caught off guard. Her shock was obvious, but Jefferson believed that he also saw a slight shudder and an expression of fear that Regina hurried to mask.

"What on earth are _you two _doing here?" Her voice was quiet and menacing, but she couldn't hide the hint of worry.

"Why so surprised, Madame Mayor?" Mr. Gold asked calmly. "As we found ourselves the only customers, Mr. Jefferson and I were just having a little chat."

Regina nodded and smoothed the front of her blouse, obviously trying to compose herself. Mr. Gold watched her coolly as Jefferson took another drink of his tea. Knowing their calmness gave them the advantage, he hoped Regina wouldn't notice the slight tremble in his fingers. It had been a long time since he'd seen her.

As she walked towards them, the mayor smiled good-naturedly. "Yes, of course," she said, her voice as friendly as her smile. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit on edge. It's been a difficult night."

"Is anything wrong?" Jefferson asked without looking up.

"Well, if you must know, I'm looking for my son," Regina answered. "I don't suppose either of you have seen Henry?"

"Oh dear," Gold responded with a small smile. "Hard to keep track of your boy these days? Isn't it past his bedtime now?"

"You should watch him more closely, spend more time with him, if you care about him at all," Jefferson added, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

Regina's smile and pleasantness disappeared instantly. "Thank you," she said coldly, "but I don't need parenting advice from the likes of either of you."

"Well, well, I do hope you have everything under control, dear," Mr. Gold replied. "With Graham's death, the upcoming elections for sheriff, and now Henry's, well, lack of interest, you do have a lot on your mind."

"I've already spoken to you about this, Gold. We're done."

Jefferson glanced between Mr. Gold and Regina, amazed at not only the tension between them, but the power that emanated from them both, even in this world.

"As you wish, of course," Gold responded with a slight bow. "It's time I was going, anyway." He turned to Jefferson and extended his hand. "Pleasure meeting you officially, Jefferson."

"The pleasure's mine," Jefferson answered, shaking the offered hand.

Without another word or a backward glance, Mr. Gold quietly left the diner. Regina watched until he was out of sight, then turned to Jefferson with a smile that was a little too sincere. She opened her mouth to say something, but Jefferson cut her off.

"I should be going, too."

He stood up, dropping some money on the table – about twice as much as the tea actually cost. Brushing past Regina, he turned to the counter of the diner. Ruby was peeking out from behind the door that led to the kitchen.

"Thank you, Ruby," he said with a smile that was, for once, genuine. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ruby answered, stepping out from behind the door. "Can I get you anything, Madame Mayor?"

"No, Ruby, that's quite alright," Regina replied absentmindedly. "Jefferson, wait a minute, would you?"

Jefferson stopped and turned halfway, facing Ruby rather than Regina.

"So it's Jefferson?" Ruby asked, smiling. He bowed in reply, then turned to Regina. She stepped up to him, put her arm in his, and walked with him out the door.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Jefferson shrugged Regina off his arm and turned to her with a look that was far colder than the weather.

"What do you want?" he asked shortly.

"Oh please, Jefferson," she laughed, "there's really no need for all that. You and I are old friends."

"Not exactly the word I would use to describe our relationship."

"Besides," Regina continued, ignoring his comment, "I haven't seen you for so long!"

"Twenty-eight years. The night we came here. I tracked you down."

"Ah yes." Regina smiled, as if recalling a fond memory. "You weren't exactly in your right mind, were you, my dear Jefferson?"

"Which is why your little curse didn't work on me," he responded, stepping closer to her. "It's why I remembered the truth when no one else could. It's why I threatened to kill you."

"_Threatened. _You couldn't go through with it."

"No. Because I'm not like you. But don't think for a moment that means I won't fight for what I love."

Regina's smile became a smirk. "You still want your sweet little girl? Give it up. Enjoy all the good things I gave you here and move on."

Jefferson shook his head. "I told you once – you don't abandon family. And I'm never going to. If you cared for Henry like you claim to, you would understand that."

Regina recoiled with a look of anger. "How dare you?"

"Oh, I will dare much more than that if I have to." Now Jefferson smiled, but it was a smile without either joy or humor. "Things are changing that you can't stop, Regina. Your reign is ending. Fight it all you like. You can't win this one."

"What do you know about any of this?" Regina demanded. "This is the first time I've seen you in twenty-eight years. You never leave that mansion. You know nothing."

"Don't bet on that, or you'll regret it." Jefferson took another step closer to Regina, looking down at her, watching her reaction. "What happened to Graham?"

Uncertainty and pain flickered across Regina's face before she masked it with a blank expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. What's in the library?" he pressed. "What's in the cemetery?"

While her face remained expressionless, Regina's eyes filled with doubt. She remained silent, so Jefferson continued.

"There are secrets all over our little town. There are truths and lies you've tried to bury that linger just under the surface. For years I didn't care, so I left things alone. But your curse is coming apart at the seams, and I have my reasons to care now. It's amazing what you can learn when you take the time to look."

Now mere inches away from Regina's face, Jefferson stared into her eyes. A feeling of satisfaction filled him as he saw the uncertainty there. Smiling again, he took several steps backward.

"Don't underestimate me, Regina. I will do whatever it takes."

…

A/N – Hey everyone! I just wanted to say a huge thank you to all of you who have shown so much love and support for this story, both through here and through Facebook. I love hearing what you think, so please give me feedback! Also, I know some of you are probably wondering when August is going to come into this story. I'll just say that he'll make his first appearance very soon, but it won't be till later that he'll become a major character. It will happen though, don't worry! ;) In the meantime, please enjoy Jefferson and all the little cameos that other characters will make! Again, thanks so much for your kindness, and please keep telling me what you think! God bless!


	5. New Influence

Chapter 4 – New Influence

Absentmindedly, Jefferson peeled little flakes of chipped paint off the old wooden bench. Though he had a newspaper beside him, all his attention was fixed across the street on a woman and boy who were talking together. Despite never having spoken to either of them, he knew them both well. As twilight fell and the shadows concealing the bench grew darker, voices carried by the wind reached across the street.

"What you did, with Ava and Nicholas . . ." Jefferson could practically _hear _Henry's smile. "You really are changing things."

With his eyes fixed on Emma, Jefferson's heart seemed to stick in his throat. Henry was right. She was changing everything. Now she had reunited two children with their father, despite Regina's efforts to keep the family apart. If anyone could help him get his Grace back, it was Emma.

The loud revving of a motorcycle engine interrupted his thoughts. Standing up from the bench, he quickly stepped backward, further into the shadows. From there he could watch without being seen. The approaching motorcycle continued down the street, pulling over just a few feet from the bench. Slowly the rider got off and removed his helmet.

Every tiny detail stood out in vivid clarity in Jefferson's mind. He took in everything, from the man's dark hair and beard to his leather jacket and gloves to the wooden box strapped to the back of his bike. Each detail was new. He had never seen this man before in his life.

Not noticing Jefferson, the stranger walked across the street, straight up to Emma and Henry, who exchanged puzzled glances.

"Is this Storybrooke?" the stranger asked.

"Yeah," Emma answered simply.

"Any place to get a room around here?"

The confusion on Henry's face grew. "Uh, you're . . . staying?"

"That's the plan."

Jefferson stepped silently closer, trying to catch every word as Emma directed the stranger to Granny's Bed and Breakfast. The man thanked them, turned, and headed back to his bike.

"Hey," Emma called, "I didn't catch your name."

A strange smile lifted the corners of the stranger's mouth before he turned back to Emma. "That's 'cause I didn't give it."

Without another word, the stranger returned his helmet, climbed onto his bike, and roared down the quiet street. Jefferson turned back to Emma and Henry, who were still staring after the man in confusion.

"I thought you said stranger's don't come to Storybrooke," Emma remarked.

Henry's eyebrows drew together slightly. "They don't."

Jefferson's stomach was in knots. Though Emma refused to acknowledge the curse, he, for one, knew that Henry was right. Never, until Emma's arrival, had anyone new come into their little town. And never, until that night, had a complete stranger ridden in and planned to stay.

"Maybe this means the curse is weakening!" Henry exclaimed as he and Emma started to walk away.

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say." Though Emma's voice was teasing, it still held a hint of genuine curiosity and confusion.

When they were out of sight, Jefferson turned and began walking quickly down the sidewalk. The stranger's bike was parked outside Granny's. After examining it, however, he found nothing out of the ordinary. The box that had been strapped to the back was gone.

Ruby looked up and smiled as Jefferson walked in the door of the diner.

"Tea for you, Mr. Jefferson? You haven't had any since that night Mr. Gold and Mayor Mills were in here."

"Thank you, but not tonight, Ruby." Leaning up against the counter, he lowered his voice. "But you might be able to answer some questions for me."

Leaning against the counter across from him, Ruby nodded.

"Anyone staying here tonight?"

"Yes, actually."

"May I ask who?"

"A man, by himself, maybe in his early thirties."

"Have you ever seen him before?"

"No. He said he's new to town, and not sure how long he'll stay."

"Did he give a name?"

Before Ruby could answer, the door connecting the diner to the bed and breakfast swung open and the stranger walked through.

"Can I get anything for you, Mr. Booth?" Ruby asked.

"How about a burger?" the man answered with a smile.

Ruby nodded, gave Jefferson a small shrug, then disappeared into the kitchen. As the stranger slid into a booth, Jefferson walked over and extended his hand.

"Welcome to Storybrooke."

"Well thank you."

After shaking hands, the two eyed each other with barely-concealed curiosity and distrust. Neither offered their name.

"What brings you here?" Jefferson asked after a brief pause.

The stranger smiled slightly and tilted his head. "Some personal business."

"But why _here_, if I may ask?"

"Storybrooke seems to have just the things I'm looking for."

"Well, I hope you're right. Our town is very diverse in its history and residents, but things tend to change slowly."

"So I've heard. Perhaps Storybrooke could use a new influence and perspective."

Jefferson smiled to mask the confusion that fought inside him.

"Perhaps."


	6. Key to His Madness

Chapter 5 – Key to His Madness

For twenty-eight years, Storybrooke had seen very little of its residential Hatter. Jefferson had made every possible excuse to avoid leaving his home. Apart from necessary trips to the store and dark walks in the forest when his nightmares were unbearable, he had spent all his time behind closed doors, drinking tea and making hats and going mad.

Now he made every excuse possible to get out of his house. The emptiness in it was stifling. The hats mocked him. The tea was bitter. Outside was a poignant mixture of bondage and freedom. He could breathe, but the air was stinging. He could investigate and dig into the secrets of the curse, but he felt powerless to change anything. Then there was Grace. He could see her, talk to her, but never reach out to her like he wanted to.

At first he used every stupid excuse he could think of to be out in front of his house when Grace left for school. He slowly gathered the courage to return her friendly waves. Then he started making sure he was outside when she walked home as well. They established a routine of saying hello to each other every morning and afternoon.

Each day her smile pulled his out of his madness, but watching her walk away plunged him deeper into its grasp.

He was trimming the red rose bushes in front of his house the day she stopped.

"How was your day, Mr. Jefferson?"

He turned to her, completely beguiled by the kindness and full sincerity in her eyes. His Grace.

"It was fine, Paige," he answered quietly, staring at her intently. Fear gripped him, as if talking too much might make her disappear. But she was still blinking up at him, so he swallowed and continued. "Thank you for asking. How was yours?"

"It was good until we had to dissect a frog," she said, sticking out her tongue. Jefferson couldn't help smiling.

"Would you like to come to dinner?" Paige asked unexpectedly.

"No," Jefferson answered quickly. Too quickly. "I – I'm sorry, Paige, I can't."

"Why not?" she asked, frowning. "I asked my parents, and they said it would be alright. I want them to meet you. And, well, I want to get to know you."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, scrambling for an excuse. "I'm just, er, used to eating dinner alone."

It was a poor excuse.

"Don't you ever get lonely?" she pressed.

He sighed. His Grace had never been one to let him get away with excuses.

"I do, sometimes," he admitted, not meeting her eyes.

"Don't you have any friends or family to spend time with?" she asked gently. The genuine pity and compassion in her eyes tore at his heart.

Jefferson couldn't face her. He turned back to the roses and began trimming them so violently that the thorns tore into his hand, bringing little drops of blood to the surface. Before he knew what she was doing, Paige had dropped her backpack and rushed to his side. Reaching up, she gently took his bleeding hand in both of her own.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I never meant to upset you. Sometimes I just don't think about what I'm saying."

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Jefferson reached out a trembling hand to brush back a strand of her hair. "It's not your fault, Paige," he whispered back. "It's just that . . . I have a daughter. She was taken away from me, but it wasn't my fault. And I – I miss her."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Jefferson," Paige breathed. "How old is she?"

Jefferson let out a strangled noise that was half laugh and half sob. "She's close to your age. You remind me of her."

Paige's eyebrows drew together. "Does seeing me make you sad, Mr. Jefferson? I don't have to come back anymore."

"No, Paige!" He desperately took both of her hands in his own. "Please, please don't stop coming. Tell me you won't."

Smiling, Paige nodded. Before he could stop himself, Jefferson pulled her into his arms. He couldn't suppress a sob when she returned his embrace.


	7. Secrets

Jefferson tugged the white collar higher on his neck, but it didn't do much good. He glared at his reflection in the mirror, noticing only the prominent scar. If only one were allowed to wear scarves with scrubs. Well, hospitals were busy places. Maybe no one would notice.

With one last useless tug at his collar, he stepped out of the small bathroom and began striding confidently down the white halls. He had done enough research on Storybrooke's hospital to know everything about it, but this was the first time he'd actually been inside. Hopefully the sheer size of the staff and the uniform he'd bought off one of the orderlies would be enough for him to pass as an employee.

White walls, patients, nurses, and volunteers rushed past him in a constant stream. He walked fast enough to appear busy but slow enough to take in every detail. As much as he wanted to spend every second with Grace, he knew that to get back to her he needed to keep probing the secrets of the curse. The deeper he dug into Storybrooke, the more he realized just how strong Regina's hold was. Now he understood that nearly every building had secrets hiding in it. You just had to know where to look.

Still, after several hours of wandering the halls and running errands for the actual hospital staff, Jefferson had found nothing. Frustrated, he sank into an uncomfortable chair tucked in the back corner of the hospital. Apparently people didn't come back here often. The only other person in sight was a grumpy janitor who turned to glare at Jefferson as soon as he sat down. Jefferson merely raised his eyebrows in response, almost laughing when he recognized the janitor. Leroy. Not the most popular person in town.

Leroy went back to sweeping, so Jefferson sank back into the chair and sighed. He sat massaging his temples, staring at the large _Exit _sign on the door across from him. Maybe he should call it a day. Maybe it was just a normal hospital after all.

Then the _Exit _door swung open and a nurse walked in. Jefferson sat up straighter, watching her closely. The nurse marched straight up to Leroy and gave him a look that was both sickly-sweet and withering.

"Where's my tea?" she asked calmly. Her voice matched her look.

"How should I know, sister?" Leroy growled.

Jefferson couldn't stop the chuckle that rose to his lips, so he turned it into a cough. Immediately the bad-tempered glare of Leroy and the menacing scowl of the nurse turned on him. He leaned over as if tying his shoe, then stood and walked away without so much as a glance at the two watching him.

"It should have been brought to me half an hour ago," the nurse said from behind him as he turned a corner. There was nothing even remotely sweet in her voice now. "You know the mayor doesn't like me to leave my post."

Stopping just out of their sight, Jefferson strained to catch every word.

"Of course she doesn't," Leroy answered with more than a hint of sarcasm. "She just expects us to wait on you hand and foot. What exactly does she have you doing down in the basement that's so exhausting?"

"That's my business and hers. Not yours. Your business is to bring my tea down to me as quickly as your short legs can."

Jefferson watched from around the corner as the nurse gave a little smile that was more of a grimace and turned away. She walked calmly back to the door with the _Exit _sign, pausing to punch a combination into a small keypad Jefferson hadn't noticed before. The door unlocked with a loud click. Opening the door, the nurse paused and looked around before finally walking through. For the brief moment the door was open, Jefferson caught a glimpse of cold cement walls and a staircase leading down, disappearing in shadows.

"Why do I get the feeling that's not an exit?" Jefferson mumbled as the door clicked shut again.

Looking further around the corner, he watched Leroy set down his push broom and disappear down another hallway, complaining under his breath the entire time.

Slowly Jefferson began to pace the nearby hallways, trying to both stay close and not draw attention to himself. His mind reeled with all the possibilities of what might be behind that door. What was Regina hiding?

Finally Leroy came back, still grumbling, carefully holding a lidded cup of tea. Jefferson took a deep breath, then approached with a friendly smile.

"Hey," he called out.

Leroy jumped, obviously startled. "You again?" he asked, staring at Jefferson as if trying to recognize him.

"Yeah, I had to come back this way. Is that for her?" He pointed to the tea, then jerked his head toward the door behind them.

"Yep," Leroy grunted. "As if it's my job to get her stuff. Usually the orderlies do it, but sometimes she picks on me. And I've hardly ever seen her actually come up here. Not gonna lie, she even gives _me _the creeps."

Jefferson laughed. "I know what you mean. You want me to take that down to her? I have time, and I think she's tormented you enough today."

Leroy grunted again. It seemed to be something of a habit with him. "Guess I can't argue with that."

Taking the tea, Jefferson walked to the door. At the last minute he spun on his heel, as if just remembering something.

"Any chance you could give me the combination?" he asked with an apologetic smile. "I'm so bad with numbers, and I haven't been down there for a while."

For a brief moment the two just looked at each other. Jefferson held his air of friendly confidence as Leroy surveyed him with confusion and suspicion. Finally Leroy gave a small shrug and the moment passed.

"I'll write it down for you."

After handing over a small scrap of paper, Leroy picked up his things and walked away. Alone, Jefferson turned to the door that concealed secrets he could only guess at – secrets he was determined to find out.


	8. Empty Hearts

With fingers clutching a cup of tea and a scrap of paper together, Jefferson used his free hand to punch in the numbers Leroy had scribbled down. The small red light on the keypad disappeared as a green one blinked on. With a deep breath, Jefferson opened and stepped through the heavy door.

Calmly he walked down the dim stairwell, stuffing the paper with the combination on it into his pocket. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself standing in a small cement basement, facing a receptionist desk. Sitting behind it and looking up at him was the nurse.

"I brought your tea," Jefferson said in explanation, extending the cup to her.

Although she took the cup without a word, the nurse's skepticism lessened noticeably. Jefferson stuck his hands into his pockets and watched as she took the first drink. Setting it down with a satisfied nod, the nurse turned to survey the orderly who wasn't leaving.

"Been busy today?" Jefferson asked calmly.

The nurse rolled her eyes. "There are only so many times you can wander the halls and check on one person who never moves."

Jefferson smiled as she took another drink. The tea seemed to have improved her mood, which in turn loosened her tongue. Or maybe she just wanted someone to complain to.

"I suppose I should go take a look at things again," the nurse sighed. "After all, that is my job."

"Well," Jefferson said slowly, leaning in, "between you and me, I'm not overly anxious to get back upstairs, and they won't notice if I'm gone a bit longer. If you want to enjoy that tea, I'll just make your rounds for you. Just this once."

"I'm not so sure the Mayor would approve."

"The Mayor doesn't need to know. And what can it hurt? I'll just make sure everything's normal for you, then I'll be on my way."

"Suit yourself," the nurse shrugged.

With a wink, Jefferson turned and headed down the hallway. At the end he turned left and found himself facing down another hallway, this one lined with doors on both sides, each with an empty name plaque beside it. Jefferson walked down the hall slowly, glancing in the small hole on each door. Every room was the same as the others – huge cinderblock walls, a hard bench, a grated window running the length of the far wall. Empty.

First he moved down the line of doors on his right, then back down the hall, half-heartedly checking the others. Reaching the second to last door, he paused and looked closer. At first he thought the light and shadows were just playing tricks on his eyes, but as he squinted into the dim room he could gradually make out a shape.

A girl was huddled on the far corner of the bench. Her knees were hugged tightly against her chest, her head resting on them, hiding her face. A tangle of brown hair fell over her shoulders and arms. She looked as if she hadn't moves in years.

Suddenly a loud _crash _echoed through the hall, jerking Jefferson's attention away from the girl. Wheeling around, he found himself facing a stocky man with long, scraggly hair. A janitor, judging by his clothes and the mop he had apparently just dropped on the floor. Jefferson bent over, picked up the mop, and returned it to the janitor. The man took it back with a blank expression, immediately beginning to mop again, as if Jefferson's presence were entirely normal. Apparently the janitor wasn't much of a threat.

With another glance at the door holding the girl in, Jefferson turned to go. The sound of footsteps echoing down the stairs stopped him. He waited, listening.

"Pretty," the nurse said unenthusiastically. It was almost a question.

"Well, I know how hard you work."

Jefferson's heart stopped. He would know that voice anywhere.

After a pause, Regina continued. "Has anyone been to see her?"

"No ma'am. Not today. Not ever."

Her? He turned again to look at the room holding the girl. Who was she? Why did Regina have her locked away?

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts again, and he realized with a start that Regina was coming towards him. Glancing back at the janitor he held a finger to his lips, then he checked the lock of the door next to the girl's room. It was unlocked. Silently he slipped inside, shutting the door all but a crack just as Regina turned the corner. From his place in the shadows he could look out through the crack and watch the Mayor.

Regina walked directly to the girl's door, lifting the small square that the hole was cut into and staring in at the lonely soul inside. A satisfied, twisted smile turned up the corners of the Queen's mouth. After a few moments, she gently set down the cover of the window cut into the door, stepping back and crossing her arms with a gloating air. Her look at the janitor was enough to make him pick up his mop and walk away. He left without a glance at the door Jefferson was crouching behind, barely daring to breathe.

Regina was, to her knowledge, alone. She drummed her perfect fingernails against her arm as she stared at the girl's door.

"So, our Rumplestiltskin does remember," Regina whispered menacingly. "And he remembers _you. _How tragic, that you have no idea who he is or that you ever loved him. How tragic, that he thinks his sweet little housekeeper is dead. But as long as I live, he will cling to that idiotic cup and mourn your death while you stay locked up in here. I will never let him have the one he loves. I'm the one who runs things around here, and that won't change."

Arms still crossed, Regina turned on her heel and left quickly. Jefferson listened as her footsteps echoed down the hallway and up the stairs. As the door shut with a distant _click, _he let out the breath that he'd been holding.

Sinking down to the floor, he sat with his back against the cold wall, imagining being locked up in the same room for twenty-eight timeless years. He imagined how it would feel to believe his Grace was dead, forever beyond his reach. He imagined never knowing she had existed.

"Regina, what have you done?" he whispered into the darkness. "You've torn everything from everyone. You use their misery to feed your own sick hatred. But it will turn on you. Someday you will have to face all the pain you've inflicted. And you will be left as empty as you have left us."


	9. Coercion

An intense, throaty scream echoed down the empty hallways, filling the huge mansion. Jefferson screamed again, throwing a chair against the wall in frustration.

"What good is it?" he cried into the emptiness. "What good is it to know all that Regina has taken away when I can't take it back? What good is it to hope for Emma to break the curse when she refuses to believe in it? What good is it to question and wonder? What good is it to hope?"

Each question hung in the air, unanswered. Running a hang through his hair, he let out a long breath, trying to regain some measure of control. After pacing through the halls for some time, he sighed and entered his hat-making room.

Facing the glass shelves, he picked up the first hat he had made after arriving in Storybrooke and set it on his head. It was so similar, so exact – weight, size, material, everything. But it wasn't his hat. Taking it off his head, he slowly ran his thumb along the brim.

This world desperately needed magic. He didn't have enough to make his hats work. But there had to be enough magic somewhere.

"Some magic came over with the curse," he muttered thoughtfully. "Regina has some, but I'll never access it. I can't count on Gold for anything. That leaves . . ." He smiled.

"Emma."

She was the one who could break the curse. She had started time again. She had magic. He couldn't keep waiting around for her to acknowledge the curse, let alone break it. But maybe he wouldn't have to. If she just had enough magic . . .

Crossing the room in a few long strides, he leaned down and looked into his telescope. It was trained on the window of the sheriff's office that was right next to Emma's desk. But the desk was empty. By turning the telescope slightly, he could see Mary Margaret's cell. Framing the teacher for murder was ridiculous, but Regina always did her work thoroughly.

For a few moments, Jefferson merely watched the prisoner absentmindedly, trying to think of how he could convince Emma to help – or, for that matter, if _convince _was the right word. But his attention was drawn back as he saw Mary Margaret walk slowly to the cell door and lift a small object to the latch. At the last second, Jefferson realized that it was a key. The door swung open. After an uncertain and guilty glance around, Mary Margaret took off running.

Jefferson stood up straight, amazed by what he'd seen. He was as convinced as Emma of Mary Margaret's innocence, and she didn't seem like the escaping kind. So why would she run? Not only that, but where would she run to? Suddenly a sick feeling twisted in the pit of his stomach.

She would try to leave Storybrooke.

Jefferson took off running almost as quickly as Mary Margaret had, racing through his mansion, knocking over furniture and sliding into the walls in his haste. His heart was pounding as he raced out the door and into the woods between his property and the sheriff's office. He didn't know why he cared so much. He just knew that he couldn't let her die knowing that he'd stood aside and done nothing.

After running through the forest for several minutes, he stopped to catch his breath and listen. Ahead of him he could hear footsteps crashing through the undergrowth, accompanied by a sobbing sort of panting. No, Mary Margaret was not used to running.

He waited, listening as she came closer to him. At the last minute he stepped out and intercepted her, grabbing her shoulder with one hand and stopping her scream with the other.

"Stop," he grunted as she tried to get away. "I'm trying to help you!"

Her eyes widened in fear and disbelief as she struggled even harder. Keeping one hand clamped around her mouth to smother her screams and protests, Jefferson swerved behind Mary Margaret, wrapped his free arm around her waist, and began dragging her back toward his house. It wasn't easy.

"I'm helping you," he kept panting in her ear. It wasn't doing much good. If anything, it only made her struggle more, so eventually he decided to save his breath.

After only a few minutes, a thick bank of bone-chilling fog rolled in, soaking them both to the skin and sapping their energy. Thankfully it seemed to weaken Mary Margaret first, her struggling becoming less violent as her sobs increased. Soon the hand clamped over her mouth was being warmed by her tears.

"I'm sorry," Jefferson whispered gently. "Please, just trust me."

Finally they reached the mansion and Jefferson half-led, half-carried his captive up the front steps. Taking her into one of many side rooms, he sat her down in a chair.

"Don't scream," he said tiredly. Keeping one hand firmly on her shoulder, he removed the hand over her mouth.

"Please," she said weakly, "please don't do anything to me. Please, just let me go."

"I can't," Jefferson replied. Kicking the door shut behind him, he pulled off his scarf with his free hand, then used it as a gag. Grabbing several more scarves that were lying on a table in the room, he proceeded to tie her arms and legs to the chair.

After giving her a small and apologetic smile, Jefferson walked out, shutting and locking the door. Then he leaned back against it, knocking his head against the wood a few times.

What was he supposed to do now?

Grabbing one of his long black coats, he locked and left his house. Mary Margaret wouldn't be going anywhere. He, on the other hand, needed to get out, to walk, to clear his head.

He walked along the road, head down, hands stuck in his pockets. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he wasn't sure how long he walked or when he turned and started heading back. He wasn't aware of much of anything until he heard something behind him and turned around. Blinded by headlights coming directly toward him, he stumbled backwards, lost his footing, and rolled partway down the hill beside the road.

But when he heard the voice calling out in apology, he couldn't stop his smile. The pieces began to fall into place in his mind. It was time to officially meet the woman he'd spied on for weeks. It was time to see what magic she had.


	10. Magic

Gun pointed at Emma, Jefferson leaned down and picked up the hat she'd made him, casually putting it on. He tilted his head so that his scar was clearly visible, and, for some reason he couldn't explain, he smiled.

_ What's crazier than seeing and not believing? Open your eyes, look around, wake up. Isn't it about time?_

"Off with his head," he whispered.

_ You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants some magical solution for their problem and everyone refuses to believe in magic._

Part of him knew that what he was doing was crazy. He didn't want to hurt Emma. But another part of him was too desperate to care anymore. He needed to find a way home, and he was out of options.

_ This is the real world. _

_A real world. How arrogant are you to think yours is the only one? There are infinite more. You have to open your mind. They touch one another, pressing up in a long line of lands, each just as real as the last. All have their own rules; some have magic, some don't, and some need magic._

A sudden impact jarred his lower back. He grunted in pain, dropping the gun and turning to face Mary Margaret. Without hesitating, the school teacher landed a powerful kick on his chest that sent him crashing through the window behind him. The glass seemed to move backwards with his body before giving way. Tiny shards surrounded him, ripping his clothes and tearing into the exposed skin on his face, neck, and hands.

He was falling.

It wasn't the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach that bothered him. He'd felt that every time he used his hat. What bothered him now was the landing. He was headed for the ground, face-first. The hat Emma made him slipped off his head, flipping before it hit. Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the impact.

But the impact never came. Where he should have felt ground, he felt more air, only this time he couldn't tell what direction he was falling. A strange sensation that was somehow both pleasant and painful tugged at his heart and sent a chill through his skin.

Magic.

The feeling only lasted a moment before Jefferson felt his whole body collide with solid earth. He coughed, face pressed into the dirt, trying to regain the breath that was knocked out of him. After lying still for a few moments, he was able to regain some normalcy in his breathing. Groaning against his protesting muscles, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around.

What little light was in the sky had been dimmed by the filter of leaves stretching over Jefferson's head. Everything was still and quiet among the countless trees. Wincing, he pulled himself to his feet.

Jefferson was standing alone in the forest, nowhere near his house. The hat was gone.

Groaning again, he ran both hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the past few hours. Figuring out how he'd gotten into the forest was undermined by his anger at himself for having lost control so completely. He squinted up at the sky and started walking forward, trying to sort out his thoughts.

Suddenly he noticed that he was walking along a dirt trail. Trees stretched as far as he could see on both sides. As he looked up ahead, Jefferson stopped short. Twenty feet in front of him stood an old, grey well on a raised cement platform.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jefferson stepped closer, knowing exactly where he was. He stretched out a hand and touched the cold stone, running his fingers around the rim, then onto the carved "Wishing Well" sign. According to legend, this well was fed by an underground lake with water that had the power to return what was lost. But he wondered if it was more than a legend – if, somehow, the waters of Nostos had come over with the Curse. Another one of Storybrooke's many secrets.

He smiled slightly. Perhaps he had been right about Emma. Her hat had worked. At least, it had held just enough magic in it to connect to – and transport him to – one of the only spots that still held a remnant of magic from his own world. With so little magic left, what remained worked by funny rules.

With trembling hands, Jefferson slowly let down the bucket and pulled it back up. He had only been to this well once before, on the night the Curse brought him here. Much good it had done him then. Still . . .

Lifting the rough wooden bucket to his lips, he drank deeply. The water could return what was lost. He wasn't giving up yet.

After all, magic didn't always make sense.

…

A/N – Hey again everyone! I just want to say a _huge_ thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this story! Getting your feedback means so much to me, and I seriously couldn't ask for better readers! Thanks also for being patient with me in getting these chapters up. My life has been really busy lately, and it's about to get busier with starting a new year at college. So I might not be able to get new chapters up quite as regularly. But Jefferson's not giving up, and neither am I! ;) I'll post whenever I can. And to all my fellow August fans – you're going to want to stick around! Thanks again everyone, and keep telling me what you think!


	11. Unanswered Questions

The sound of children laughing carried across the schoolyard to where Jefferson stood outside the chain link fence. Arms crossed, head down, his eyes were glued on his daughter's smiling face. The Curse had stolen his happiness, but had it truly taken hers? Was it selfishness to think she couldn't lead a truly happy life if he wasn't in it? Was it just his ability to remember that left him in torment? Or would he have always felt something missing? Could he leave his Grace in her ignorant happiness and ignore – or be killed by – the aching in his own heart?

Leaning his forehead against the cold metal of the fence, Jefferson closed his eyes. He'd ruined the chance Emma had given him. He needed to find another way. But could he really get Grace back without somehow hurting her? It was impossible to answer any of his questions, to make sense of anything.

Opening his eyes again, Jefferson watched as Paige broke away from the other children, approaching a bench pressed against the side of the school, directly across from Jefferson. The boy sitting alone lifted his head as she came up to him. It was Henry. Their voices carried easily over to Jefferson, but he paid little attention to their small talk.

Casting a casual look around the schoolyard, Jefferson immediately straightened, stepping closer to the fence and gripping it tightly in his fists. A mysterious yet familiar figure was making his way toward Paige and Henry. Ever since the Stranger had ridden into Storybrooke on his motorcycle, a thousand unanswered questions had lingered in the back of Jefferson's mind. Nothing about this man made sense.

"Hey there, Henry," the Stranger called out with a smile as he approached Emma's son.

"Hi," Henry responded glumly.

The Stranger raised his eyebrows at Henry's reply, but didn't comment. He turned to Paige with a smile.

"I don't believe we've met." He took Paige's hand and bowed slightly. "I'm August."

Giggling, Paige curtsied. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. August. I'm Paige."

Shoving his hands into his pockets and tilting his head slightly, August smiled at Paige again. "You know what? You remind me of another girl I met once, a long time ago when I was little."

"Really? Who was she?" Paige and Henry both looked at August with curious expressions.

"Well," August said, taking a seat beside Henry on the bench, "she was a girl, about your age, who lived by herself in the middle of a forest. Well, she wasn't by herself – her father was with her."

"What was her name?" Paige asked, sitting on the other side of Henry and leaning forward.

August looked down at the pavement, speaking so quietly that Jefferson had to strain to catch his words.

"It was Grace."

Jefferson let go of the fence and took half a step backwards, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his heavy breathing, his hands trembling. Staring intently at August's face, he struggled to understand. To remember.

"Now, what's wrong with my partner here?" August was asking, nudging Henry with his elbow. "That wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic greeting."

Henry kept his head down while Paige's smile faded. "I think we're all a little concerned about Miss Blanchard," she answered quietly.

"And now my mom's so busy trying to help Miss Blanchard," Henry added, lowering his voice and looking over at August intently, "that we're at a stand-still with Operation Cobra."

August simply nodded understandingly. Opening her mouth to say something, Paige looked across the schoolyard, suddenly noticing the man standing on the other side of the fence.

"Oh, hi Mr. Jefferson!" she called, waving.

While he returned her wave, Jefferson's eyes met those of August Booth. The man's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion – or perhaps it was something else.

"Paige, who did you say that was?" August asked, almost in a whisper. He didn't take his eyes off Jefferson.

"That's Mr. Jefferson," she answered simply. "He's my friend who lives up the street. I think I should go talk to him and make sure everything's alright. Excuse me."

Jefferson smiled, squatting down behind the fence so that his eyes were level with hers as she approached. Reaching the fence and grabbing onto it, Paige met Jefferson's gaze with concern.

"Is anything wrong? Why did you come?"

Jefferson laid his hands on hers and shook his head. "Everything's fine, Paige. I was just in the area, so I thought I'd see how you were."

"I'm doing ok." Paige bit her lip, her usual cheerfulness faltering. "I don't like what's happening to Miss Blanchard."

"I know. But somehow everything will come out right. You keep believing that, alright?"

Forcing a small smile, Paige nodded. "Alright."

_Keep believing it for the both of us, then, my Grace._

Suddenly the bell rang, seeming loud and harsh. Kids began to pour back into the school from all directions. Jefferson looked back to the bench where Henry and August sat, Henry just returning his large fairy tale book to his bag. The two whispered together, August somehow managing to get Henry to smile and nod.

"Paige, have you ever seen that man before?" Jefferson asked, watching August stand and give Henry a high five.

"Mr. August? Yes. He's come to talk to Henry like he did today, but he's only come once or twice. They seem to like talking about Henry's book."

Jefferson nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you." He turned back to his girl and smiled, forcing himself to let go of her hand and stand up again. "You'd better get back to class now."

Paige nodded, but didn't turn to leave. "Mr. Jefferson?"

"Yes?"

"Can I come over to your house sometime?"

The question knocked the breath out of his lungs. He felt like he'd just been kicked in the chest – again. Why did these moments always come when he was least expecting them? Though Paige looked at him expectantly, he couldn't make his lips form an answer.

"I already asked my parents. I've told them all about you, and they've seen you outside your house, so they thought it would be fine. You have such a beautiful house. I just want to see where you live. If it's alright with you, that is."

A thousand excuses came to Jefferson's mind. A thousand reasons screamed at him to say no.

"Yes."

Paige's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yes," Jefferson repeated softly, hardly believing that the word had come from him.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Jefferson!" Paige exclaimed, walking backward toward the school. Before he had time to say anything else, Paige was running past the teacher waiting at the door. Turning around, she waved again, then disappeared inside.

Jefferson grabbed the chain link fence and shook it once, making a rattling, metallic echo in the now abandoned schoolyard. He didn't know how much longer he could endure being just the friend up the street. But if he continued to reach out to her and bring her into his life here, he didn't know how much longer he could go without either losing control or revealing too much.

Without magic, there was so much at stake. But making magic work in his favor required help.

Lifting his head, Jefferson once again found himself meeting the eyes of August Booth. The man turned away quickly, as if he hadn't been watching Jefferson. Sticking his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket again, the Stranger whistled as he walked away from the school.

Jefferson watched him go, then silently began to follow.


	12. Memories

"Now, let me pour your tea for you."

The deep red sunlight spilled through the cracked shutters and chinks in the ceiling, illuminating the ragged tea party. Makeshift dolls and broken china cups were spread meticulously on the table. In the daughter's eyes, it was fit for a princess. In the father's eyes, it was a reminder of just how far from royalty they were.

He wanted so much more for his girl.

After a few moments the sunlight had faded, leaving the small cottage in a strange mixture of twilight and firelight coming from the stove.

"Alright, let's put our tea guests away so we can get ready for supper, shall we?"

Carefully he lifted the pot of soup off the stove and turned toward the table. Stepping forward without looking, he collided with his girl. The pot went flying as he and his daughter both stumbled backwards. Catching himself against the hot stove, he yanked his hand away with a sharp intake of breath.

"Grace!" he exclaimed, his tone harsher than he intended. "What have I told you about watching where you're going?"

"I'm sorry, Papa." His girl had fallen to the floor, where she sat rubbing her legs.

Scooping up the pot with the hand that wasn't burned, he flung it against the stove, letting it clatter as it rolled onto its side. The watered-down soup was making a steaming puddle of mud out of his dirt floor.

"Great," he muttered. "What I am supposed to do now? That was it." His voice shook slightly as he held out his hand toward the ruined soup. "That was all I had. Now I can't go to the market until tomorrow and I won't have any food for you. I don't have anything for you."

He swallowed hard as he looked down at his burnt hand, curly hair falling around his face.

"I can't buy you the things you want. I can't fix this hovel. I can barely get you the clothes you need. Now I can't even feed you. Your mother would never have let this happen. This is my fault."

"Please, please, Papa, stop." He could barely bring himself to meet his daughter's eyes, to see the round tears hovering on her delicate eyelashes. "Please don't be angry at yourself. You take good care of me. This was my fault. Don't be angry. I know Mama would say you're doing a great job."

Leaning back against the wall, he slid down to the floor across from his daughter.

"I'm sorry, Grace." He reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, brushing a tear off her cheek. Looking down to the soupy mud, his eyebrows drew together as he noticed his daughter's hands grasping her legs. The hem of her skirt was wet and the skin on both of her calves was bright red.

"Grace, are you alright?"

"Uh, it's nothing."

He met her eyes, pursing his lips together.

"Well, maybe some of the soup did spill on me . . . just a little . . ."

He laid his hand on hers, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry, baby. Come on."

Picking her up carefully, he carried her out to the well near their home. In the fading light he poured the frigid water over her legs and his hand, treating the burns as best he could. Just as he was lowering the bucket back down, he heard a slight cough behind him.

"Excuse me, sir."

Turning, he found himself facing a man and a small boy with a cricket on his shoulder. They all wore vests, hats, and scarves – even the cricket.

"My name is Geppetto," the man said, stepping forward and extending his hand with a friendly smile.

"I'm Jefferson." They shook hands as both children walked to their fathers' sides. "This is my daughter, Grace."

"This is my boy, Pinocchio, and our friend, Jiminy."

"Pleasure meeting you," the cricket said with a bow.

Grace smiled and waved at Pinocchio, who was a few years younger than her. He blushed, but waved back.

"You're out awfully late," Jefferson observed. "Is there anything we can do to help you?"

"Actually, yes." Geppetto chuckled and shook his head. "We were taking a day off to enjoy some time together in the wood. Unfortunately we lost track of time, and when we started to head back we lost our way. Now it is getting too late for us to return home tonight. Though I know it is much to ask, we are looking for a place to stay."

Jefferson smiled. "I don't have much to offer. My home is small and modest. But my daughter and I will be happy to share whatever we can with you, won't we, Grace?"

"Of course! Please stay!" She smiled up at her papa as she took his hand. "Now we can have _real _guests!"

"Well, I guess that settles it, then. Please come inside, Geppetto, Pinocchio, Jiminy."

"Thank you, Jefferson! Thank you, Grace!" Geppetto shook both their hands enthusiastically before following them to the cottage.

As they crowded into the main room, Pinocchio pointed to the spilled soup that was still on the floor. "What's that?"

"Pinocchio, be polite," Jiminy said, nudging the boy.

Jefferson chuckled slightly. "Ah, that would be supper."

Geppetto clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Most people, they try to keep it on the table, eh?"

"Well, I guess we thought we'd try something new," Jefferson responded, winking at Grace.

"You let me know if that works," Geppetto said, taking a basket from Pinocchio. "But in the meantime, perhaps we could share."

"Oh, no, I couldn't. That's your food."

"Please, we have so much left over, there is plenty for all of us. Jiminy doesn't eat much, you know, and my boy and I, we can't eat all this ourselves. Please, I insist. Pinocchio, why don't you help Grace lay this out?"

Grace immediately began a conversation as the two children worked to empty the basket. Jefferson nodded to Geppetto.

"Thank you. If it were just me, I couldn't accept. But my daughter . . ."

"Ah, of course, of course." The two fathers turned to watch their children. "It is not easy, is it? To care for them when you're alone."

"No." Jefferson sighed. "No, it isn't."

"As their fathers, we just want what's best for them. We want them to be good, to be happy."

"Yes. But I can't always give my girl what's best. It's a struggled just to give her what she needs."

"But you are doing _your _best, yes? And that is all you can do. That is what counts, Jefferson. And it is not wasted, you can be sure of that. I did not always do my best for my boy. I made many mistakes. But he was still given to me. He is my special gift. And now I do all I can to protect him."

Jefferson smiled. "Forgive me for asking, but you are the Geppetto that works for Snow White and Prince James, are you not? I have heard of you, and of your boy's story. It is truly remarkable."

Geppetto laughed. "Yes, I have worked for their majesties occasionally, when they need something built. And while my boy's story is indeed remarkable, I believe that every child is remarkable. Don't you?"

"Papa!" Grace rushed over and took her father's hands. "Pinocchio says he knows Snow White and Prince James! He's been to the castle a hundred times!"

"Now, Pinocchio!" Geppetto exclaimed, trying to be firm. "What have we told you about lying?"

"But I wasn't lying, father," Pinocchio said. "I was just, um, exaggerating."

Jefferson couldn't stop the laugh that rose to his lips, and Geppetto soon joined him, reaching out to ruffle his son's hair.

After supper, Pinocchio, Grace, and Jiminy sat in one corner of the room, playing and laughing. Jefferson handed Geppetto a cup of tea as they sat down together at the table.

"Jefferson, thank you so much for your generosity."

"It's the least I could do."

"No, you have given much to show this kindness to us. And we will always be grateful. If there is ever anything you or your Grace need, you just let us know. Me, Jiminy, my Pinocchio – we will always do whatever we can to help you." . . .

Spilled soup, firelight, laughter, tea, promises . . . these things ran through Jefferson's mind, forgotten memories rising to the surface. That laughter, that smile – the image of a small boy with curly hair and a red cap filled his mind as he hurried down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes on the black leather jacket in front of him.

Finally the figure ahead of him slowed, then stopped without turning around.

"Why are you following me?"

"Because," Jefferson said, shrugging, "it's time for some answers."

. . .

A/N – Hi everyone! Wow, I'm _so _sorry it took me this long to update! I had the chapter in my mind, but could never find the time to actually get it written down. Hopefully you like it enough to forgive my tardiness! So, as always, please tell me what you think! Also I'd like to point out, as most of you (hopefully!) know, that season two is upon us! Hurray! I'd just like to announce that even though season two is coming out in a week, I'm hoping to continue updating this story at least semi-regularly until I bring it to the end of season one. As of right now, I don't have any plans to continue it into season two. That's not to say you won't see more about Jefferson (and hopefully August) coming from me! But just so you know, the official plan is to end this story with the finale of season one. Alright, enough of my talking! Hope you enjoyed this new chapter, and thanks again so much for reading and reviewing! You guys are awesome!


	13. Recognition

The two men faced each other on the sidewalk, their stances casual, their gazes intense. Jefferson stared at the man before him, trying to control the curiosity that burned inside.

"Well then," August said, the hint of a smile playing on his face. "What do you want to know?"

Jefferson smiled widely in return, but his eyes were solemn as he responded, "Everything."

August tilted his head, then nodded. "We'll see." He jerked a black leather-clad thumb over his shoulder. "Granny's isn't far. Unless, of course, you prefer to discuss things on the street."

Without a word, Jefferson brushed past him. The silence between them bristled as they made their way to the diner. Ruby hurried out of the back when the bell on the door clanged, but she pulled up short at the sight of the two men.

"Uh, can I get you anything?" she asked. She put a hand on her hip, letting her eyes ask her real questions.

Jefferson and August both forced smiles but declined. As Ruby shrugged and walked away, August motioned to a table. Jefferson shook his head.

"This won't exactly be a conversation to carry on in the middle of the gossip hub of the whole town."

"Well then, what would you suggest?"

"That we go to your room, of course. There aren't very many private places in Storybrooke, and I'd rather not have certain people overhearing."

August crossed his arms. "Why should I let you decide anything? You're lucky I'm agreeing to talk to you at all. You've given me no reason to trust you, we've barely spoken once-"

"You and I both know that's not true."

Again they stared at each other intensely until August sighed. "Fine."

They walked through Granny's, again in tense silence, until August stopped at a heavy wood door with a faded gold 2 on it. Pulling out an ancient-looking key, he swung the door open, then sarcastically bowed. Stepping past him, Jefferson's eyes quickly took in the details of the cramped room. Immediately he stepped over to the desk, lifting a small wooden paperweight carved into the shape of a donkey. He set it down slowly, then ran his hand over the tiny red cap that lay beside a black typewriter. Turning, he found August watching him with a strange look on his face that was part fear and part hope.

"You _are_ him," Jefferson whispered. He smiled. Genuine smiles felt so strange. "It's been a long time, Pinocchio."

August closed his eyes and exhaled, relief filling his face. "It's been so long since anyone called me by my name."

"Twenty-eight years, right?"

They stared at each other once again, this time in amazement.

"Well, you've certainly gotten older," Jefferson said.

August smiled sadly. "You haven't." He shook his head. "It's so strange, how everyone is the same. I felt like a kid again when I saw your daughter today. She's just as kind and outgoing as ever. But you . . ." His voice trailed off as he looked at Jefferson with something like pity. "You're different. What happened to you?"

Jefferson's small smile twisted into a grimace. "I lost her." He clenched his teeth. "Twice. That's what _happened_. The curse _happened_. The curse that you, somehow, managed to avoid."

"But the curse didn't work on you. At least, not fully. You remember when no one else does."

"I wouldn't say _no one_. But yes, I remember. And that, also, is what _happened_. Now, I think we both have some explaining to do."

Several hours passed before they were done questioning each other, trying to fill in the gaps since that night in the forest ages before. Finally they sat quietly, staring out the window at twilight engulfing the town. August was the first to voice the question that filled both of their minds.

"So, what now?"

Jefferson tugged idly at his scarf, keeping his eyes on the window. "We break the curse."

"And just how would you manage that? Emma is the only one who can break it, but as we both know, she's not the most easily convinced."

"So we find another way."

"_We_?"

Jefferson stood, casually putting his hands into his pockets and leaning back. "Yes, _we_. I need my Grace back. You need to stay a real boy. In short, we both need this curse broken. But like it or not, Pinocchio, we have to work together to make that happen. I missed my chance with Emma, and the other important people in town know me too well. You, on the other hand, are still a mystery. I'm the only one who knows who you really are, the only one to recognize the boy inside the man. You can be anyone, and that could come in handy."

"Ok, so you need my help. Not to seem rude, but why do I need yours?"

"In case you haven't noticed, people who know the truth are in short supply around here. And you need someone who knows both the truth behind Storybrooke and the town itself. You need my knowledge of this place and the people here to get things done. Unless, of course, you'd rather work with the evil queen, the imp, or the ten-year-old."

August crossed to his desk, running his fingers over his typewriter. "I've been doing as much as I can."

"Yes, but nothing has happened."

"I don't know. I just don't know." August straightened, turning back to Jefferson. "I'm glad you found me, and I'm glad that someone else knows the truth. Thank you for your offer. But I can't accept it. I helped make this mess, and I need to keep doing what I can to fix it."

Jefferson blinked several times, his jaw and fists clenched. Finally he stepped up to August, forcing his voice to stay quiet and steady.

"Your father is a great man, and he helped me when I was struggling. He made me a promise, that if ever I needed something, I could call on one of you."

August remained quiet, his expression filled with uncertainty.

"I hope," Jefferson continued, "that you've learned enough to grow into the man he wanted you to be. I hope you can understand the importance of honoring a promise. So when you're ready to get things done" – he flipped a small white card with his address printed on it onto the desk – "you let me know."

…

A/N – To celebrate Season 2 starting, here's a new chapter for you! Hope you enjoyed it, so let me know what you think! Also I wanted to point out that I basically used some lyrics from the song "Be Somebody" by Thousand Foot Crutch, simply because there's a fantastic music video for August set to that song. (Look it up on youtube!) I wanted to throw in a little nod to that video, but I want to point out that the lyrics aren't mine and I don't claim them. Thanks again for reading and reviewing! 3


	14. The Breaking Point

A/N – Due to recent events and episodes in the world of "Once," I feel like a few words are in order to start. First off, wasn't "Lady of the Lake" amazing?! I think Jefferson lovers everywhere were rejoicing. Which brings me to what I want to say . . . I'm sorry for this chapter. After watching that, it was really hard (and, at the same time, surprisingly easy) to go back and write this. But I felt like it had to be written, and I hope you can agree. Hopefully, knowing what's coming will only help you appreciate the complexities and struggles of these awesome characters even more. I know that's what it's done for me as a writer. On to my second point, which is season two, which I have loved every minute of so far. And I know that a few chapters ago I said I had no plans to carry this story over into season two . . . but now I'm not so sure. So I want to know what _you _think about where this story should end. Trust me, what you say will have a big impact on what I decide. So, as always, let me know what you think! Anyways, sorry to start off with my long rambling. Please enjoy!

…

Pale sunlight streaming from the window reflected off the cold metal scissors in Jefferson's hands. He turned them over and rubbed his thumb across the sharp edge, but his eyes were unfocused as he stared at the fabric in front of him.

A loud chime echoed through his empty mansion, startling him out of his thoughts and causing him to slice his thumb slightly on the scissors. He realized in amazement that it was the doorbell. In twenty-eight years, no one had ever rung it.

Dropping the scissors and pressing his bleeding thumb to his mouth, he hurried to the window. He leaned out into the cold air, avoiding the shards of glass still clinging to the edges from where he'd crashed through. From his angle, he couldn't see who was parked in front of his house. The doorbell echoed again. Scrambling out of his hat room, he hurried down the stairs. A quick glance in one of the few mirrors hanging on his walls showed disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, but he didn't care much what August Booth thought of his appearance.

Reaching out, he swung the door open – then froze.

August wasn't there. Grace was. With her parents.

"Are you Mr. Jefferson?" The man standing in front of him extended his hand. "Sorry to call so unexpectedly. I'm Paige's father."

Fighting down a surge of emotion, Jefferson shook the hands of the couple who used to live beside him in the forest. He looked down at his daughter, who was beaming up at him. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

"We've heard so much about you from our Paige," her mother said, smiling at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat. "All good, I hope."

They chuckled politely. His girl was still smiling.

"Uh, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" He forced himself to look at the couple she thought were her parents, remembering it wasn't their fault Paige belonged to them.

"Well, you see, we're in a bit of a bind," the father said. "We have some meetings we need to go to. Usually we just send Paige to a friend's house, but tonight nothing was working out."

"So you see, we need a place for Paige to stay, just for a few hours." Paige's mother placed her hands on Paige's shoulders. "We wouldn't have bothered you, but we're out of options, and Paige insisted that we ask."

Jefferson looked back at his girl. "You did?"

She nodded. "Can I stay for a little bit, Mr. Jefferson? Please?"

He still could never say no to her. "Of course." He looked back to the parents. "Of course."

"Thank you so much," her father said, shaking his hand again. "Now, Paige, you behave yourself, alright? We'll be back in a couple hours."

"Yes, daddy." She hugged both her parents, then waved until they drove away.

"Do your parents leave often?" Jefferson whispered.

Paige turned to him and tilted her head. "No, just when they have meetings for work and things. And they always come back right away."

Jefferson's face burned, but he nodded. "They're good parents, then. Parents should never leave their children." He turned back inside.

"Do you miss – Oh! Is this really your house?" Paige dropped her backpack inside the door and walked in, looking around in amazement. "It's so big!"

He smiled. It was like having her back.

"Maybe my parents can come see inside sometime!"

Well, _almost _like having her back.

"Paige, would you like to have some tea?"

She twirled to face him, that perpetual grin still on her sweet face. "Like a tea party?"

He laughed, hoping she wouldn't notice the tears in his eyes. "Yes, like a tea party. I'm afraid I don't have much else to do around here."

"Oh, that's alright. I love tea parties!"

"I know," he whispered. "Wait in the living room down that hallway, alright? I need to go put the tea on."

He hurried to the kitchen, laid both hands on the counter, and hung his head. Every time he was near her it became difficult to breathe, to talk, to think. The Curse obviously didn't want them together. He squeezed his eyes shut, causing a tear to escape and splash against the granite surface. Laying his forehead against the counter and lacing his fingers behind his head, he tried to concentrate.

Images of Grace running through the forest flashed through his mind. Grace wearing the hood he'd made her. Grace holding a stuffed white rabbit. Grace sipping imaginary tea. Grace walking away from him for the last time, running into the open arms of their neighbors . . .

New images rose up in protest, disjointed and vague. Going to school as a boy. Riding bicycles down Storybrooke's streets. Making a brilliant business endeavor. Buying a mansion. He'd never been married. He'd never had a daughter . . .

"No!"

His fist began to throb where he'd slammed it against the granite countertop. He whirled around, making sure she hadn't heard him. After a few seconds passed, he slowly let out his breath.

The life the Curse had planted in his mind had always been incomplete, but it was still there, nagging at him, feeling so real, threatening to take his girl away.

"You can't have her," he muttered to the air. "I won't let you."

Trying to keep his hands from shaking, he started making the tea. For something he'd been doing every day since coming to Storybrooke, it was a remarkably difficult process. He listened to her quiet footsteps in the living room and the hallway, imaging the curiosity on her face as she explored. Staring at his warped reflection in the silver tea kettle, he tried to think of what he could say to her, what he could do to keep her occupied – and happy – for the next few hours.

Fortunately, coming up with ideas wasn't a concern. Paige wanted a full-blown tea party, which, for once, he could give her. They used the best dishes, drank multiple flavors of tea, and ate all her favorite snacks. Paige kept him busy, telling story after story of school and her friends and her hobbies. She looked over the maps he'd made of the forest and insisted on drawing a picture of him. Jefferson said very little, content to watch her and cherish each moment he had with her.

Finally he cleared away their tea things, leaving Paige copying one of his maps as he returned to the kitchen. Setting everything down beside the sink, he lifted one of the white china cups and pressed it to his lips, closing his eyes. He could give her anything here. She could have all the tea parties and toys she wanted. She would never have to remember what it was to be hungry, to be poor, to be alone. But it meant nothing if she didn't know she was his daughter.

After gathering his composure again, he headed back to the living room to spend what time he could with his girl.

"Paige, if you want to, I was thinking we could-" His voice died as he entered the large room and realized it was empty.

"Paige?" He hurried back through the hallways, glancing in each room. "Paige, where are you?"

Heart pounding, he raced up the stairs two at a time and scanned the hallways. The door to his hat room was hanging open. He ran to the room and froze in the doorway.

"Grace, what are you doing in here?" he exclaimed, cringing at the harshness of his own voice.

The confusion on her face deepened as she looked at him. "My na-" She shook her head. "I was just exploring. I wanted to see your house, and I thought you wouldn't mind. What is all this stuff?"

She circled the room, looking at the scissors, threads, fabrics, and pins. She paused when she came to the pistol lying on the table next to clippings from _The Daily Mirror _about Emma's election as sheriff, Katherine Nolan's disappearance, and August's arrival in town. Her wide eyes moved from the gun up to the rows of identical black top hats.

"Why is all of this here? Why do you make so many hats?"

Jefferson leaned heavily against the door frame and, despite the complete lack of humor, he couldn't stop the slightly manic laugh that rose to his lips. "To get it to work. It's always been to get it to work."

"I don't understand . . ."

"Of course you don't," he snapped, laugh dying suddenly. "You don't understand any of it. You _can't._"

He ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. He felt the same frustration and lack of control as he had with Emma, but this was worse. He knew that what he was doing was crazy. He hated himself for it. But the dam had broken and it wouldn't be held back. The madness had taken over.

"You don't understand because it won't allow you to see the truth. It fills your head with lies and keeps you from remembering what's real. It tricks you into thinking you're happy while keeping happiness from you."

Sinking into a chair, he held his head in both hands, afraid to meet her gaze.

"It is killing me," he whispered, "to see you every day, to keep trying and failing, to know you won't remember, and," he bit back a sob, "and to be terrified of what would happen if you did."

The heavy silence felt excruciating until she spoke. Hearing the pain in her voice was a thousand times worse.

"Mr. Jefferson, you're scaring me."

He forced himself to meet her eyes, to endure the confusion and betrayal there.

"I'm so sorry for upsetting you," she continued. "I never meant to. It won't happen again. I heard my parents outside. I think I should go now."

"Wait." He choked on the word as she hurried to the door. "Grace, wait!"

Stopping in the doorway, she turned to him, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Mr. Jefferson," she whispered, "my name isn't Grace. Please stop calling me that."

He could only sit and listen to her footsteps running down the stairs, the heavy thud of the door, the car engine's hum as it pulled away. After a few moments he walked numbly down to the kitchen and over to the sink. Picking up the silver tea kettle in both hands, he stared at his reflection, then threw it across the room with a scream.


	15. Losing Control

Jefferson stared blankly at the wall as he forced air in and out of his lungs. He had managed to bring his breathing down to a normal, slow pace. Forced, yes. But controlled. Finally he was able to push himself up from his kitchen floor and, ignoring the mess he left behind him, make his way through his house. He walked in slow, measured steps, turning away from the stairs when he reached them. He couldn't face his hat room. Not yet. Maybe, just maybe, he had enough control to try the living room.

The bitterness eating him from inside felt tangible as he stepped into the room where, only hours before, he'd finally been able to give his daughter a proper tea party. Keeping his forced breaths somewhat in check, he picked up the paper lying on the coffee table and examined the picture his girl had drawn of him. She hadn't taken it with her when she left. Why would she?

Had it really been an hour since she'd gone? And she hadn't simply left. She'd run. She ran from _him. _Her look of hurt and fear was seared into his mind. He'd failed her completely – again. First he'd left her. Now he'd driven her away. How could he ever face her again? How could she ever want him to?

The paper was clenched so hard between his hands that it was shaking. He quickly crumpled it, then smoothed it out again. Reaching down to pick up the map she'd been drawing, he froze, listening to the loud echoes of the doorbell. Twenty-eight years of never hearing it, and in one night he wanted to rip it out.

His controlled breath started coming in short gulps. She couldn't be back. But her parents . . . what had she told her parents? He looked around frantically, as if the answer was hiding in some corner of his living room. Then he noticed the low hum of an engine. A motorcycle.

Dropping the picture, he hurried to the front door. He pulled it open halfway, then held it there, examining the man standing on his porch, wide stance, head titled slightly back, hands shoved into the pockets of his black leather jacket.

"Nice house," August said, examining the mansion.

"Depends on how you look at it." Jefferson leaned his other hand against the door frame and tilted his head to the side.

August finally dropped his eyes to meet Jefferson's inquiring gaze. He cleared his throat. "I'm here about your offer. Maybe I need some help after all. Or at least a second opinion."

Jefferson shrugged and swung the door open. As August had done once before, he sarcastically bowed the other man inside. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't offer you any tea," he said, closing the door. "I wasn't expecting you and, well . . . I already had some."

"Perfectly alright," August answered, narrowing his eyes in a look that was somewhere between amusement and suspicion.

Jefferson motioned toward the living room. "Shall we?"

As they made their way down the hall, August suddenly bent over double with a sharp intake of breath. He straightened again just as quickly, holding his right arm against his chest and rubbing it with his left hand. He tried to laugh, but it turned into a grimace.

"Sorry," he muttered, flexing the leather-clad fingers of his right hand. "I guess returning to my roots hasn't exactly been easy."

"How bad is it?"

"It's . . . painful. But the pains are still deep – nowhere near the surface yet. And they come sporadically."

"How long do you have?"

August laughed without humor and shook his head. "I honestly don't know. I've gone from wood to flesh. I never thought about what it would be like to go the other way. But it will be long enough. It has to be."

"Is that what you're here to discuss?" Jefferson moved into the living room and turned to face August, who exhaled and pushed back a strand of curly hair.

"After a fashion. It's Emma."

Jefferson smiled slightly but forced himself to wait.

"As I said before, she's not the most easily convinced. But I don't know what else I can do except find a way to show her that the Curse is real. Except right now she's so fixated on proving Mary Margaret's innocence that she can't even see what's right in front of her." Jefferson watched silently as August began to pace. "Maybe if I can find some way to help her, to solve the case, then she can move past it and listen to me. If I can find some sort of evidence . . ."

Before he could stop it, a laugh broke out of Jefferson's mouth. He shook his head as August turned to look at him.

"Well, I can't think of a better plan. What would you suggest?"

"I would suggest," Jefferson replied slowly, trying to stop his inexplicable smile, "that you have no idea who you're going up against."

"What, Regina?"

"Of course Regina!" Now it was his turn to begin pacing, walking around the edges of the room. "You don't know her like I do. She's not going to leave loose ends or pieces of evidence just lying around. She knows how to cover her tracks."

"There has to be something. Even she makes mistakes."

"It's not just Regina," he said, clenching his jaw and walking faster. "It's the fact that you're going up against a Curse beyond anything that any world has ever seen."

"But Emma can break it."

"_Maybe_. There are a thousand variables, and right now it's not looking so promising. Maybe all of this is pointless."

He stopped at the fireplace and leaned both hands on the mantel, wondering if he'd ever really thought that he had a chance.

"What happened?" August's voice was quiet now, almost pitying. Jefferson whirled around, finding him gently picking up the paper on the coffee table. Grace's picture.

"That's none of your concern."

"Yes, it is." Setting down the picture, August stepped directly in front of Jefferson and held his gaze. "The last time we talked, you were determined to break the Curse, whatever it took. You wanted your daughter back more than anything. You wanted to work together. And now you're standing here telling me it's pointless. What happened with Grace that made you give up?"

"Did you ever consider that maybe not knowing the truth is better? We are cursed with memory, with understanding. Maybe this false, empty happiness Regina has imposed on everyone is better than the happiness and love they had before."

"How can you, of all people, say that?"

"Love brings pain. Maybe feeling nothing is a better option. It's safer."

August shook his head. "Now you sound like Emma."

The laugh that again rose to Jefferson's lips left a bitter taste in his mouth. "And who taught Emma to be that way?" he spat. "Who taught her how it feels to be betrayed, let down, abandoned? It seems to me that everyone who's tried to help Emma has only hurt her."

August took a step backward, his eyebrows drawn together. "I have tried to protect her."

"And you've done an excellent job, haven't you?"

"So I'm not perfect . . ."

"Well that much is clear. Maybe Emma's right. After all, I know what it feels like to be betrayed, to be alone."

"You think you're the only one who's suffered? I was left completely on my own, a child, trying to make sense of circumstances unlike any I'd ever known. You're not the only one who has felt out of place for twenty-eight years, who remembers another world, who's been torn away from everything and everyone."

"Oh yes, I'm sure you suffered horribly as you traveled the world and lost yourself in its pleasures."

"Look, I've made mistakes. But I'm here now."

"And why is that?" This time Jefferson took a step closer, lowering his voice. "It's because every time a splintering pain goes through your limbs, you're reminded of just how close you are to losing your precious reality. You're here because you need magic to save yourself. So do whatever it is you think you have to do here. But stop pretending you're here for Emma."

August's nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled. "I'm here for all of us," he said after a moment of tense silence. "We all have our own reasons for wanting the Curse broken. And Emma is the only one who can do that. It has always been my job to make sure she believes, to make sure she does what she has always been destined to do. I won't give up on that, or on her. Not until I've done everything in my power."

Stepping to the coffee table, he picked up the picture Grace had drawn and held it up. "What about you?" he continued. "I thought nothing was more important to you than your daughter. Are you going to let your own sorrow and selfishness keep you apart?"

"Enough!"

Grabbing both sides of August's jacket, Jefferson slammed him against the wall.

"You have no idea how important she is to me!" he screamed. "But I have tried everything. Nothing has worked. I tried convincing Emma. I tried reaching out to Grace."

August calmly looked down at the arm Jefferson had pressed against his chest, pinning him to the wall. "And is this the same way those conversations ended?"

Jefferson reached behind his back, pulled out his pistol, and pressed it to August's temple. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly in the stillness. August met Jefferson's gaze and held it.

Finally, Jefferson's mouth twisted into a grim smile.

"Yes."

Lowering the gun, he released his grip on August and took several steps backward. He set the gun on the coffee table, then sank down on one of the couches. "I have failed her in every way," he whispered. "How can it be best for her to remember me? How can I ask her to share the pain I've felt? How can I hope for her to love me?"

Rubbing his hand around the back of his neck, August stepped forward. "There are a lot of things I don't understand," he said slowly. "I don't understand what you've been through or what led you to this point. I don't understand what's happened between you and your daughter. But I do understand the love between a child and their parent. I understand the need for, and maybe the possibility of, forgiveness. And I understand that you need to fight for the people you care about."

Sighing, August crouched down so that his eyes were level with Jefferson's.

"Look, Jefferson. I have to fight for the people I care about right now. So I have to stick to doing what I'm doing. Emma is my top priority. If I can get her trust, help her out, maybe then I can get her to listen. But, whether I want to admit it or not after all this, I still need – and want – your support. And I want to honor the promise my father made you. So, can I ask you to trust me for now with the plan?"

Jefferson fingered the scarf around his neck, watching the clock on the mantelpiece slowly tick to 8:17. He forced air into and out of his lungs in controlled breaths.

"Keep me posted."

...

A/N - Hey everyone! Sorry it took me so long to update. For some reason this chapter was giving me fits. As always, please let me know what you think of it! Along with that, I have a few things that I feel need to be mentioned concerning the direction this story is heading. First, I plan on continuing this story into season two, ending on "The Lady of the Lake." I feel like that's the only natural and reasonable way to bring this story to where I want it to be, and I hope you agree. On that note, writing a story that occurs during season one while season two is in progress has been challenging. I feel like every new episode ties in so many loose ends and gives so much more background information on these characters that it's almost impossible to predict where they're headed or to keep up. So while I'm a canon-keeper at heart and would love to incorporate all this new material, it's just not practical. Basically I'm saying all this to say that I won't be including Neal's storyline at all. I think it's obvious that he and August were working together, but I'm sticking to my original plan of Jefferson and August working together. So while I may hint at information from season two, I'll mostly be working with what we were told is season one. I hope that makes sense. Trust me, my story will be better this way. ;) Alright, enough of my talking! Review away! ;D


	16. Change of Plans

'Murdered Woman Found – Alive!'

Jefferson's eyes scanned the article covering the entire front page of _The Daily Mirror_. He'd read the article several times, trying to put the amazing news of Katherine Nolan's reappearance into context. Finally he tossed the paper onto the coffee table and took a sip of tea. All of Storybrooke would be buzzing over this. Of the many possible outcomes, this was one he never would have seen coming. But as interesting as this development in Mary Margaret's case was, perhaps the most interesting part of the article for him was the short sentence that stated that a certain August Booth was with Sherriff Swan when the missing woman was found. No word from August himself on whether or not solving the case had encouraged the savior to believe.

As Jefferson turned to leave the room, the phone on the wall began to ring, shrill in the silence. He crossed over to it and laid his hand on the buzzing receiver. For a moment he wondered who would call so early in the morning, but then he remembered that he'd only ever given his number to one person. He picked up the receiver, held it to his ear, and waited. August's heavy breathing and strained voice crackled on the other end.

"Hey, you there?"

"Yes."

"Good," August breathed. "This is taking too long, we need to accelerate the plan."

"I thought your plan was to get Emma's trust so she would listen to you."

"It was. Well, it _is_. But it's going to be hard to get her to listen if I can't move or speak, or . . . if I'm not here."

"What are you saying?"

August sighed. "I can barely stand right now. I think it will wear off this time, but it's getting worse, and it's happening much quicker than I originally thought. And when it's finished I don't know . . ." He paused, and for the first time Jefferson heard the fear in his voice. "I don't know what's going to happen to me. There's no way to be sure if I'll just turn back into wood or if – if I'll die. I need magic to stop this or to hold it off if I'm going to be able to accomplish anything. And I don't know where to find magic. I need your help on this one, Jefferson."

Jefferson rubbed his forehead. "That's easier said than done. Magic isn't supposed to be part of this world, so any that's here is unpredictable, not to mention difficult to control. We'd be grasping at straws."

"Trust me, I know. But if that's all we have, I'll take it. I'm running out of time. Please."

Holding the receiver away from his ear, Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut. Why should he help? This man was nothing to him. Just a stranger who'd come riding into town and interrupting his life. Then his mind jolted, and he saw a young boy wearing a red cap playing with his girl on the dirt floor of a cottage. He returned the receiver to his ear.

"Alright, Pinnocchio. We'll figure something out."

"Thank you." Relief was clear in August's voice. "I'll come over and we can talk."

Jefferson dropped the phone onto the coffee table and began to pace, tracing circles with his feet as well as his mind. But no matter how much he thought, every idea met with some obstacle. By the time his doorbell rang nearly an hour later, he was discounting ideas as quickly as he thought of them.

"What am I thinking?" he muttered as he crossed the room. "This is crazy." He pulled the door open, returned August's nod, and watched as the man limped inside and into his living room.

"Is it really getting that bad?" Jefferson asked. He didn't mean to sound rude, but he didn't want to admit, even to himself, that was afraid.

"This isn't exactly something I would fake," August grunted, lowering himself onto one of the long couches. "So, what are our options?"

Jefferson chuckled grimly and shook his head. "_Slim_. That's what they are."

"You can't give up that fast."

"I'm not, just let me think!" He began to pace again as August sat massaging his left leg. "Some magic came over with the curse. Mostly it's in a few magical objects that Regina keeps locked up. Even if we could get to them, I'm not sure how they would help you. Unless . . ."

"Unless?"

"What about the well? The waters of Nostos might. . ."

August shook his head. "I already tried. I drank from the well when I took Emma there. It hasn't made any difference. Besides, I'm not trying to return what was lost, I'm trying to keep what was gained."

"Then apparently we're out of luck as far as magical objects go."

"What about people? If anyone still has the ability to use magic, maybe we could find a way to use it for our purposes."

"Well, Rumplestiltskin and the Queen were the two most magical beings in our land. They're also the only ones, beside the two of us, who remember that land."

"Then they could still have their magic."

"Maybe. If they do, they're doing a good job of keeping it secret. And if we wanted to get it to work in our favor, we'd need a way to trick, threaten, or control them. Any way you look at it, it's risky."

"I might as well risk it. Look, I'll do the dirty work myself. I just need to know what can be done. What information do you have on Gold and Regina?"

"Plenty of dirt on both, but mostly from the old land."

August looked up at him with a slightly confused and curious smile. "Really? Did you know them?"

Jefferson stopped pacing, leaned against the fireplace, and nodded. "I met Regina before her rise to power. And Rumplestiltskin . . . Well, before Grace was born, when you were just an un-carved lump of enchanted wood, I had frequent dealings with him. I suppose you could say I worked for him."

"Did you learn anything during that time? Anything about a weakness he might have?"

"There were rumors of an object, an object that gave the bearer power over the Dark One. I was curious about it, but I had no desire to control Rumplestiltskin, so I never investigated. If objects traveled over with the curse, it may have come over as well. If we could find it, we could see what power he has left. But we don't even know what this object is, let alone where it might be."

"At least it's a start." August stiffly got to his feet and shook out his leg. "There has to be some way to find out more."

They stood for a moment in silence, then August laughed. "Of course! Operation Cobra!"

"What?"

"Henry! His book tells about how Rumplestiltskin became the Dark One. It might tell about this object, too."

"Good. Will he let you look at his book?"

August nodded.

"Then we're wasting time here."

Jefferson glanced over the top of the newspaper clutched in his hands. He was sitting on a low concrete wall directly across from the mayor's large home. August was parked in front of the mayor's hedge, sitting astride his motorcycle, waving at Henry, who stood at one of the windows. Jefferson had insisted on coming, but they had both agreed that he would only watch from a distance while August discussed the book with Henry. When Henry ran out a few moments later, hugging the large story book to his chest, Jefferson buried his face behind the newspaper but listened intently.

"August!"

"Hey Henry!"

"What's up? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong, I just need to do a little research. Is your mom gone?"

"Yeah, she's at work. What kind of research?"

"Research into magic that might help me understand the curse," August said, turning off his motorcycle and swinging his leg over so he was facing Henry. "Top secret job for Operation Cobra."

Jefferson glanced past the newspaper and watched as Henry's face lit up. He didn't know what Operation Cobra was, but he was guessing Henry did.

"Great!" Henry pulled out his book and flipped it open. "What do you need to know?"

"Well, what can you tell me about Rumplestiltskin?"

Henry smiled again and started turning the pages eagerly. "Lots!"

After watching August and Henry huddled over the book for several minutes and hearing only snatches of their hushed conversation, Jefferson saw Henry shut the book and run with it back into the house. Throwing down the newspaper, he hurried across the street to August.

"I've got it!" August exclaimed. "It's a dagger with his name written on it."

"And it gives its bearer power over the Dark One?"

"Yes. There's a picture in the book that Henry's making a copy of for me. Jefferson, there's something else."

"What?"

August's face took on a strange look that was somewhere near pity. "Rumplestiltskin had a son, a son that he lost."

Jefferson's eyebrows drew together. He opened his mouth to speak, then saw Henry waving from the window again.

"Gold's Pawn Shop opens at nine," August said, speaking quickly. "I'm going to go over there with Henry and look around for the dagger, see if he keeps it there."

"And if he doesn't?"

"We'll figure something else out."

Jefferson nodded slowly. "If you find the dagger, don't use it, and don't confront Gold right away. Just find me, alright? Going up against him might be more dangerous than you realize."

Henry came running out of the house again, and Jefferson walked away, trying to look as if he'd just been strolling past. He kept walking, but his mind stayed on Rumplestiltskin. Digging through his memory, he tried to bring to mind anything that would give him some hint about the Dark One's past. It was infuriatingly difficult, trying to go back that far in his memory when the curse wanted to shut that world out. All he could remember was that once he had wandered through the dark castle and found a pair of boy's clothes laid out in a side room, and that Rumplestiltskin had always been in search of magical objects that would take him to a land without magic.

Eventually looking up, he realized that he'd taken an indirect route to the pawn shop. Again settling himself across the street, he watched as Henry emerged, holding a small package under his arm. Only moments later August came out the door, casting several glances over his shoulder. He spoke with Henry briefly, then caught sight of Jefferson and crossed toward him as Henry ran off in the other direction.

"Any luck?"

August shook his head, seeming agitated. They moved around the corner, out of view of the pawn shop.

"Gold caught me looking around his office," August explained. "I was able to talk my way out of it, but I think he was suspicious. Anyway, I don't think the dagger is in there, and if it is, he'll probably move it now."

"You're lucky you got off that easy. Now, tell me what you learned about Rumplestiltskin's son."

August narrowed his eyes. "Why is that important?"

"Do you want to find that dagger?" Jefferson countered. "I'm trying to help you, but you have to be willing to work with me."

"Fine. Henry's book tells about his son, Baelfire."

Jefferson listened in amazement as August explained how the Dark One, the most powerful magical being their old world had ever known, had been motivated by his desire to find his son.

"That's why he always wanted to travel to a land without magic," Jefferson muttered. "To _this_ land."

"Yes. I think that he wanted to come here to look for his son."

Jefferson began walking down the street, trying to process this new information. Suddenly he paused, then whirled around to face August, a strange light in his eyes.

"You could be him."

August raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You could be Baelfire."

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it! No one but me knows your real identity, but if Gold is paying any attention at all, he'll know that you come from our land, that you're more than just August Booth. But he won't know _who_. If you're acting like his son would act, he might fall for it, and if he does, he can take you directly to the dagger."

"No. There has to be an easier way."

Jefferson laughed. "Such as? Finding one hidden object in this town could take weeks, and I'm guessing you don't have that long to look. Gold doesn't threaten easily. Your best shot is to make him lead you to it himself, and his biggest weakness is his desire to find his son."

"He would never fall for it."

"He might, if he wants it bad enough."

August shook his head. "It isn't right. To manipulate his emotions like that . . . How can I take advantage of the love between a parent and child?"

"You can because you understand it. You know its power. You can display it genuinely and believably."

"But to use it to deceive him like that is wrong. Being dishonest and irresponsible is what got me into this mess in the first place. How can I use dishonesty to try to get myself out of it?"

Jefferson shrugged. "Enjoy being wood then, because this is your best shot, and if you don't take it, I can't help you."

He turned and walked away without another word, but when he glanced back, August was back at the corner, staring at the pawn shop.

...

A/N - Happy 2013, everyone! I am SO very sorry that it's literally taken me almost two months to post a new chapter! Life got really crazy for awhile there. I hope you all haven't lost interest entirely. If you're still out there, let me know what you think! :)


	17. Holding the Pieces

Jefferson fell to his knees, teeth clenched in pain. Slamming his fist repeatedly into the floor of his hat room, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the carpet, then squeezed his eyes shut. His muscles ached from spending hours – he'd forgotten how many – bent over, looking through his telescope, watching her every moment that he could. Cramps in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. His head throbbed with lack of sleep. But nothing hurt as much as the pain threatening to tear him apart inside.

Everything was wrong. The curse was like a wild animal: wounded and cornered, fighting to assert itself all the more violently for knowing that it was weakening. This meant that he had to battle his own mind constantly.

The pain of losing Grace again was the worst. She hadn't seen him at all since she'd been to his house, not even walking by on her way to school. He watched her every chance he got, but it was obvious that something was wrong. She rarely smiled or laughed and wasn't as talkative as usual. Although her parents seemed concerned, she wouldn't tell them what was wrong. But Jefferson knew. And he hated himself for it.

Then there was August, who Jefferson hadn't heard from him since they'd spoken outside Gold's Pawn Shop two days ago. He wanted to stop worrying, to focus only on Grace. He wanted to listen to the curse's insistence that he owed August nothing and was only wasting his time. Then he remembered the little boy in the red cap and thought of how Geppetto – Marco, in this world – had no idea that his child was so close. When he remembered this, he knew he couldn't just stand aside. Perhaps helping this parent and child would somehow redeem him for some of the many wrongs he'd done to his own girl. Maybe, just maybe, helping August would finally help break the curse. Considering the implications of what would happen then made the world spin uneasily.

Slowly, Jefferson pushed himself to his feet, reaching a hand out to the table to keep from collapsing again. The cold metal scissors lying there brushed against his fingertips. He was fighting the urge to begin working on a new hat when he heard his front door open and slam shut. Grabbing his pistol and tucking it into the back of his belt, he left the hat room. When he reached the staircase, August was waiting at the bottom. They met each other's eyes, sharing a strange understanding of the pain the last few days had held for both of them.

"What happened?" Jefferson asked.

To Jefferson's surprise, August's gloved hand moved to his neck and rubbed his throat absentmindedly.

"I failed. Well, the plan _was _working. Gold – he thought I was his son. He led me to the knife, but when I tried to control him he knew I was lying. It was useless anyway – he doesn't have his magic anymore." August chuckled wryly, shrugging and then crossing his arms. "I thought he would kill me . . . but he let me go."

Jefferson sat down at the top of his stairs and punched the banister, then drew his throbbing fist to his chin and rested his other hand on top of it. The sound of the clock ticking matched his pulse.

"Why did he let you go?" he asked.

"He told me to try again with Emma. All he said was that he might still get something out of it."

"When was this?"

"Last night. I tried talking to Emma this morning, but she won't listen long enough for me to say anything."

"Then find a way to make her listen."

August scoffed. "How? By threatening her? Because that worked so well for you?"

Jefferson couldn't stop a slow smile as he reached behind his back and pulled out his pistol. He turned it over in his hands as August watched him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Taking several deep breaths, Jefferson tightened his grip on the handle, laid his finger on the trigger – then set the gun down on the floor beside him. Standing, he walked hesitantly to the bottom of the stairs, finally lifting his gaze to meet August's questioning glance.

"No," he answered. "Threatening isn't always the best method." His eyes shifted to the floor. "Listen, August, most of what you've seen . . . madness isn't all there is to me. Believe it or not, I am trying to help."

August bent down to massage his left leg. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm just frustrated. What _would _you suggest?"

"You have to find a way to convince Emma that listening to you is in her best interest."

"I tried that today, but she's completely fixated on getting Henry and beating Regina, and I have nothing to convince her that I'm the one who can help her do it. She thinks Gold can help her." He snorted. "Just my luck."

Jefferson's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

"Emma told me she's going to Gold for legal advice." August's eyes narrowed. "Why does it matter? It only makes things harder."

Jefferson reached for a top hat sitting on a nearby shelf and began to run his thumb along its brim as he thought. "No. This is perfect."

"And how is that?"

"You have to go to Gold for help."

August nearly stumbled as he took a step backwards. "Are you insane?"

Jefferson laughed, flipped the top hat into the air, caught it, and swept into an elegant bow.

August tried to suppress a smile. "Wrong question to ask."

Stepping closer, Jefferson held August's eyes and lowered his voice. "I'm serious. You have no choice but to go to Gold."

August shook his head. "Just last night I lied to him and tried to control him, and when he held a dagger to my throat, he seemed pretty fond of the idea of using it. Why on earth would he help me now?"

"Because he needs you to do what he can't. He needs you to convince the savior to believe. He's as desperate as we are. We need _him_ to convince Emma to listen to _you_. Trust me, it'll work."

Handing the top hat to August, Jefferson crossed to the door and grabbed a coat.

"Where are you going?" August called after him.

"For a walk," he answered, swinging the door open. "Keep thinking, August. You're not a complete puppet." He smiled over his shoulder. "At least, not yet. I'm sure you can come up with a way to get Gold to help. Just get him to talk with you later today. He'll listen."

Without another word, Jefferson rushed down his steps, leaving the door of his house hanging open and August standing inside.

He made his way determinedly down each street until he reached the heart of town and stood in front of the pawnshop. The orange and black sign hanging in the window was flipped to "closed" and the door was locked, but he twisted and pulled against the handle, not caring if it was useless. He peered through the window, noticing a light coming from the back of the darkened shop. Ignoring the suspicious glances of those walking by, he began pounding on the door as hard as he could.

"Gold!" he screamed. "Gold! Get out here!"

The curtain separating the shop from Gold's office moved slightly, but no one came out. Jefferson stepped back, closed his eyes, and shouted –

"Rumplestiltskin!"

He listened in satisfaction as the curtain was thrown aside and heavy footsteps trudged across the wooden floor. At the sound of the lock clicking back and the front door being thrown open, causing the bell to ring jarringly, Jefferson looked up to meet the eyes of Mr. Gold. They stood there and stared at each other, Jefferson with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted back, Gold holding the door open as the clanging of the bell died away, his expression hovering between anger and amusement. After a tense moment of silence, Gold stood to the side and Jefferson casually walked in.

Gold shook his head. "Whatever else you may have lost, you certainly haven't lost your cheek, Hatter."

Jefferson smiled as he looked around the pawnshop. "Perhaps not, but I'm here about what _you've _lost."

Shutting the door, Gold glanced over his shoulder as he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I want to know why you want this curse broken."

As he turned to face into the pawnshop again, Gold placed his cane squarely in front of him and rested both hands on it. "Well, that's just too bad, because frankly, my desires are none of your concern."

"Is it because you want to find your son, Baelfire?"

Jefferson wasn't sure what reaction he had expected, but it surprised him to see just how quickly the color drained from Gold's face.

"You can't know about him," Gold mumbled. "No one knows about him."

"Well now, that's not entirely true, is it?"

Gold's eyes narrowed as he watched his companion, who calmly leaned against a display case and returned his gaze. Swinging his cane upward, Gold pointed it at Jefferson.

"You've been talking to Booth."

"So have you."

In a few strides, which were surprisingly quick considering his limp, Gold crossed the floor, pressed his cane into Jefferson's chest, and pinned him back against the case.

"What have you and Booth been doing?" he hissed through his teeth. "How do either of you know about Baelfire?"

"That's not what matters right now, Rumple," Jefferson grunted. He braced the palms of his hands against the edge of the short display case, trying to alleviate some of the discomfort of being bent backwards over it. Gritting his teeth as Gold pushed harder, he knew he had little choice but to continue. "You let August go so that he could have another chance with Emma because you want him to convince her to break the curse. I want that as much as you do. I want my child back, too. So I'm here to humbly suggest that we need to both do our part in helping that happen. I'm here as an old friend, Rumple. Just hear me out."

Gold's eyes searched Jefferson's face for a moment. Then, so slowly that Jefferson almost didn't realize it, the pressure on his chest began to relax. Gold lifted the cane, putting it under Jefferson's chin and tilting his head back. Despite the awkwardness of the position, Jefferson deliberately held Gold's gaze. Finally, the cane was lowered to the floor, where Gold leaned heavily against it.

"Well well, apparently you're serious about this, deary, so you might as well say whatever it is you think you have to."

Jefferson crossed his arms, trying to stay calm. "August knows that Emma is coming to you for legal advice in getting Henry back."

"And why should Mr. Booth care about Emma's legal woes?"

"He doesn't. He cares about getting her to listen. And for that to happen, he needs your influence."

"And why are _you_ here telling me this? Why doesn't he face me himself?"

"He will come. I'm here to make sure that you listen when he does."

"And why should I? Since you apparently know things you have no right knowing, I'm assuming that you know where my relationship with Mr. Booth stands. It shouldn't surprise you that I don't exactly fancy helping him out."

"I'm asking you to."

"Not a good enough reason."

"You need the curse broken."

"Still not good enough. You know how I deal."

Jefferson laughed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand out at crazy angles. For a brief moment, he was reminded of his days as a portal jumper. Talking to Gold seemed to have that effect on him.

"You're just the same as always, aren't you, Rumplestiltskin? What's your price?"

Gold's lips curved in a tight smile, calm, yet containing the slightest glimpse of the imp he once was. "Nothing much. I just want one thing – _information._"

"And what information could _I _give to _you_?"

"The one thing you seem to know that I don't." Gold leaned forward, his smile intense and faintly threatening. "Who is August Booth?"

Jefferson's smile faded, his stomach twisting. Part of him said that telling Gold wouldn't make any difference, that it was a small price to pay to help break the curse. But something else said that it would be betraying a man who didn't deserve it, who hadn't done anything against him, who could possibly be a friend. But hadn't Gold once been a friend? Or at least something like it. It seemed that Jefferson's friendships rarely turned out well.

Gold watched patiently as Jefferson fought with himself, but after a moment he spoke. "If you want my help at all, you'll have to tell me. That's the only way I'll do anything for either of you."

Jefferson looked at Gold closely. "You promise to do whatever August needs if I tell you who he is?"

"When have I ever broken a deal with you?"

He took a deep breath. "August Booth wasn't affected by the curse. He grew up in this world after he was brought here by other magic – not unlike your son, if I understand the situation correctly. But in our land, August was the young boy who was made real by the Blue Fairy – the young boy who was once a puppet carved by the craftsman Geppetto."

The corners of Gold's mouth curled in amazement. "Pinocchio."

Jefferson nodded. "He'll come to you today. And whatever he asks you to do, you had better do it."

"Of course. I never break a deal. But you know. . ." Gold walked over to one of the shelves and ran his fingers down an intricate cuckoo clock. "I have been meaning to have Marco come in and take a look at this. Perhaps I should call him up today."

Jefferson tilted his head. "You said you would help August. . ."

"And I will, deary. But of course I can't control who might _happen_ to be in my shop if Mr. Booth comes in."

Jefferson fought back a bitter taste in his mouth. "You would control every circumstance you can get your hands into. Haven't all of our broken relationships suffered enough without you interfering just to cause more pain?"

Mr. Gold's knuckles turned white as he gripped his cane. "You involved yourself in this, Hatter, and I've made you your deal, but anything else between Booth and me is none of your concern."

"You never do change, do you?" Jefferson whispered. "And you never will. Maybe that's why you're trying so hard. Perhaps all these relationships we're so desperate to fix are the ones that we broke with our own hands. And no matter how hard we try to hold the pieces together, we only crush them further."

A shiver ran through Gold's body as he stepped toward Jefferson, his voice deadly and low.

"Get out."

Jefferson bowed his head forward, then walked to the door of the shop and threw it open. He paused without looking back. "Just keep your end of the deal, Dark One. If this curse is broken, who knows where we'll end up? But if it's not – we'll just be left holding the pieces, won't we?"

...

A/N - Hey everyone! Not to get annoying with apologizing every time for taking so long, but I really am sorry! I never meant to take this long between updates. Hopefully you're all still interested, and even with all the awesomeness of season 2 unfolding, I hope it'll make you want all the more to think back to the awesomeness that's lead up to it. I love hearing all your comments, and they honestly do motivate me to work harder at updating regularly. Thanks for being amazing!


	18. The Abyss

Jefferson rubbed his thumb over the four words he'd been staring at for the last half hour. The thick pencil strokes smudged together across the small rectangle of paper. His vision blurred until the words were unreadable, but they continued to blaze through his mind.

_I failed. I'm sorry._

He turned the paper over, absentmindedly noting that the message was scrawled on the back of a business card. Crumpling it in his fist, he rubbed furiously at his eyes. Just then, the doorbell rang.

"So you decided to face me after all," he muttered, throwing the note down and walking to the door. "You'd better have a good explanation. . ."

The sarcastic remark he had planned died on his lips as he yanked the door open. For the second time, he found himself expecting August Booth and instead facing Paige's Storybrooke parents. He knew he should say something, but his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach seemed to drag his speech down with it. They shifted back and forth on their feet, avoiding eye contact with him.

"Mr. Jefferson." The man's voice cracked and he cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. "We are here to discuss a somewhat delicate matter with you."

"Please," Jefferson faltered, "please come inside."

"No, thank you. We will only be a moment." Paige's father paused. His wife bit her lip.

"Is something wrong with Paige? Is she-" Jefferson stopped, hating how his voice shook.

The man looked up, eyeing Jefferson with obvious confusion.

"She's fine," he said hesitantly. "But, well, she isn't quite. That's what we're here to talk to you about." He let out a sigh that sounded more like a groan. "These past few days, Paige has seemed upset and distant – not her normal, cheerful self. We're worried about what might be troubling her. We've been thinking about it, and we believe that this started after the night she stayed with you."

Jefferson felt the white paint of the door chipping off beneath his fingernails.

"We asked her about it," the man continued, "but all she will tell us is that she did something that made you very angry. She won't give us any details. So we decided to come here to ask you: what happened that night?"

Eyes on the grey stone at his feet, Jefferson inhaled deeply.

"Nothing."

Paige's mother stepped forward. "Please, Mr. Jefferson, we're not trying to accuse you. You've seemed like a kind and trustworthy man, and our daughter is very fond of you. We just want to know the truth."

"Nothing happened that night."

"Then can you tell us what _did _happen?" her father asked.

For the first time, their eyes met. Jefferson held his gaze.

"We had a tea party. She drew pictures. She explored my house. Is that so unusual?"

"Did she maybe make a mess or find something she wasn't supposed to?"

"She didn't do anything wrong."

"Did you get angry with her?"

Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "If you aren't here to accuse me, why does this feel like an interrogation?"

"We just want to know the truth!" Paige's mother exclaimed, an edge in her voice.

"I told you the truth!"

"Then what are you hiding from us?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"We have a right to know!" Paige's father yelled. "Understand, Jefferson, that I will do whatever it takes to protect my daughter, and if that means-"

"She is not your daughter!"

Jefferson felt his entire body shaking as his words echoed against hard stone and cold air. The man and woman on his porch stared at him, mouths hanging open. He couldn't tell if they looked more angry or afraid.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean- It's just-" He tilted his head back and sighed. "Just don't think that you're the only ones who care about her."

The man put his hands on his hips, once again staring down at the porch. He nudged a pebble around with the toe of his shoe.

"Jefferson, I wanted to believe for _my daughter's _sake that nothing happened and that you really are trustworthy. But you've made it clear to me tonight."

He stopped kicking the pebble and slowly raised his eyes to meet Jefferson's again. There was no anger in his gaze – only a strange mixture of suspicion and pity. "I don't understand you. But you need to understand this. I don't want you to have any contact with my daughter again."

Jefferson's nails dug deeper into the wooden door as his other hand reached out to steady himself. Paige's parents turned to go.

"Wait." His voice felt thick, and swallowing only made it worse. "Wait. Just – just let me talk to her. Just one more time."

At the bottom of the steps, they turned back. "If you truly care for Paige," the woman said softly, "then you'll stay away."

"No," he whispered, watching their retreating forms. "For twenty-eight years I stayed away. I watched her through the end of a telescope, thinking I'd lost her forever. But she saw me. She spoke to me. She let me hold her in my arms. And I refuse to go back. I will not lose my daughter again."

Turning back into his house, Jefferson crossed to the phone in a few long strides. His hands were still shaking as he dialed August's number and held the receiver to his ear. No one answered. Complaining under his breath, he threw the phone down. He stood for a moment with his arms crossed. Suddenly, his head jerked up and he hurried back into the hallway, dropping to his knees to grasp the crumpled piece of paper he had thrown down. Smoothing it out, he examined the short message again, and then turned the card over. The corner of his mouth curved upward as he examined the business card for Marco, carpenter and handyman. The card had Marco's phone number and the address of his workshop printed neatly at the bottom.

"So that's where you've been."

It didn't take Jefferson long to walk into town and make his way through the deserted streets to the beat up garage that was Marco's workshop. He paused just outside the circle of light spilling from the open doorway. Trying to keep his boots from crunching against the gravel, he stepped backward until he was pressed against the chain link fence, his eyes fixed on the garage. August and Marco were both inside, bent over a table covered in sawdust, smiling as they discussed the mechanisms of an antique clock. Suddenly August jerked upright, gripping his left arm against his chest and breathing heavily.

"Are you alright?" Marco asked, resting his hand on August's shoulder.

August forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just, um, got a cramp in my arm. I think I'll step outside for a second, just to stretch, get some fresh air."

Marco smiled. "Alright. Let me go get some tools I left inside."

Massaging his arm, August watched his father disappear into the old house. He turned and walked out of the garage, his breath hanging on the air. Without a word, Jefferson stepped forward into the ring of light. August opened his mouth as if to speak, then hung his head.

"I got your note."

August nodded, but still didn't speak. Jefferson bit back his rising emotions, shoved his hands in his pocket, and began to leisurely walk forward, examining the workshop.

"It's not too bad, your dad's place. Nothing to compare to what he had in our land, but at least it feels familiar to you. Father and son, doing their work together again. Only, of course, he has no idea who you are. To him you're just a stranger who came in to town. And it doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon."

August raised his head and Jefferson stopped in front of him.

"Look, Jefferson, I'm sorry."

"So you've said. And that's it? You're just giving up?"

"There's nothing left that I can do."

"Except, of course, what _you _want to do."

"Excuse me?"

"You would let everyone else suffer, so long as you get your time with your father."

August looked away, shaking his head. "We might not have much time left. _I_ most definitely don't. Shouldn't we spend the time we have with the people we love?"

"They don't remember us! They have no reason to love us!"

Looking back at Jefferson, August took a step closer. "But we remember them. Maybe just being with them is what counts."

"All this change of heart just because you bumped into your dad in Gold's shop?"

August's eyebrows drew together. "How did you know that?"

Jefferson pursed his lips.

"For that matter," August continued thoughtfully, "how did Gold suddenly know exactly who I am? That wasn't just a coincidence or a lucky guess, was it?"

Jefferson shrugged. "We needed him to make a deal with us."

"You told him who I am?" August exclaimed. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Marco hadn't returned yet. "_Why_?"

"It was the only way to get him to help."

"You should have talked to me first. That was not your decision to make."

"I was helping you!"

"By going behind my back? By manipulating circumstances to fit your plan? You know, I'm not surprised anymore that you and Rumplestiltskin were partners. You're just like he is."

"Oh please, as if you're any better. You've only ever acted in your own interest. You say that you're here for Emma, but you've been using her as much as anyone."

"That's not true. I tried. I did my best-"

"And it wasn't enough. It's never enough with you. So you just give up."

"I did everything I could. I am out of options. And I want to spend time with my father while I can, so if this is the only way to do it, so be it."

"And everyone else? We just continue to exist, never changing, never happy, never getting to be with the people we love."

"But _you_ remember, just like I do. Let that be enough. Spend time with your daughter. At least you can be with her."

"I can't!" Jefferson screamed.

Stepping back, August stared at him questioningly. Jefferson laid his palms together and pressed his fingers to his lips, trying to force a laugh but unable to keep the tears from his eyes.

"No matter what I do she is taken away from me," he whispered. "I can't just go on living without her. I _need_ this Curse to be broken. I need her to know who I am."

Sighing deeply and glanced around, August tilted his head. When he spoke, his voice was kind but sad.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Jefferson eyed him closely. "What's that supposed to mean?"

August hugged his left arm to his chest, staring down at it. "It's just that, well . . . I'd be terrified for my father to remember who he is right now. If he remembered, he would know just how many times I've failed, how many times I've let him down. I would be ashamed to face him like this. And I just thought . . . I thought it might be similar with Grace. If she remembers, she'll remember everything. She'll remember you leav-"

"Shut up!" Jefferson screamed.

August looked at him with the same pity that had been in the eyes of Paige's parents.

"I'm sorry for all of this, Jefferson. I truly am. But maybe there really aren't any more happy endings. Maybe we just have to take what we can get."

Jefferson shook his head, backing up slowly. "There's nothing left for me to take."

He couldn't remember overhearing August and Marco speak to each other as he left. He couldn't remember walking through the dark streets or down the middle of the empty highway. He couldn't remember stumbling through the forest, tearing his clothes and cutting his hands on branches. He couldn't remember entering his house, breaking off the door handle, or climbing the staircase.

He only remembered finding himself in his hat room, arms extended above his head as he grasped the highest hat shelf, leaning his weight against it. He closed his eyes, pushing away the Curse and allowing every image of Grace to flood into his mind. Her birth. Her first steps. Her face the day her mother was lost – too young to understand, but old enough to feel the pain. Her bottom lip sticking out when she couldn't have her way. Her eyes turning red when she cried. Her skin, pale and damp when she was sick. Her smile. Her laugh. Her arms clinging to his neck.

His stomach lurched as he heard voices echoing in time to his pounding pulse.

_"I don't want her to lose her father, too."_

_ "Just promise me you'll come back. You have to promise. For our tea party."_

_ "My daughter. I promised her I'd be home for tea."_

_ "If you truly cared for your daughter you never would have left her in the first place."_

"_All I need is you, Papa. Please stay." _

He felt her arms slipping away from around his neck, felt his lips leave her forehead, felt his hand separate from her shoulder as she walked forward. He felt his feet cemented to the ground, felt his body dragged away, felt his head cut off, felt the fabric of a thousand hats slip through his fingers.

For so many years, he'd tried to get back to her, to get it to work. But he could never undo leaving her.

Jefferson turned, walked to the table, picked up his pistol, and laid the cold barrel against his cheek. Stepping backward to the door, he extended his arm and took aim. Glass crashed down from the lamps suspended on the ceiling. Splinters of wood flew off of the fracturing table and bookshelves. Shreds of patterned wallpaper ripped away. Scissors, pins, and model heads crashed to the floor.

Calmly he turned and faced the glass shelves lining the wall, row after row of dozens of identical black top hats. Patiently he shot them one by one, watching some fall to the floor, some topple on their sides, some collect glass shards in their brims.

Finally, his arm dropped to his side and the pistol fell from his fingers. He stepped forward, his shoes crunching over glass, wood, and scraps of fabric. Reaching out, his hands encircled the one hat left unscathed, the first hat he had made in Storybrooke. He turned it over. It was so similar, so exact. So useless. Carefully, he ripped away the _10/6_ tag and tore the ribbon off. Gripping the hat in both hands, he pulled as hard as he could until he felt the structure break and the fabric shred in his fists.


	19. Follow the White Rabbit

A/N - I'm alive! Imagine that! Basically, I owe all of you the biggest apology ever. This story went on a very unexpected and unplanned two month hiatus. I never intended for that to happen and wish it could have been avoided, but sometimes life hits hard and things you care about get put on a back burner. I suppose I'll have to let AngryMagic carry through the threats to turn me into a walnut and eat me, turn me into a throg and throw me into a fire, and winky face me to death. Seems fair. ;) Anyway, a _giant_ thank you to all of you who still care! I would bake you all cookies if I could. As always, let me know your thoughts. Here you go! :)

...

_There's nothing left for me to take. _

_ There's nothing left for me . . . _

He was numb. He couldn't feel the breeze that pushed leaves over his boots and lifted the corners of his long black coat, the sun that shone in mottled splotches through the clouds. The crushed fragments of his heart had bled out, shriveled into nothing.

He was hollow. The emptiness stretched down to his fingertips, threatening to push outward until it shatter his body, the pointless shell that stubbornly continued to breathe. He tried to remember what it was to feel happiness or contentment, to feel _full_. A memory of life with Grace surfaced, but just as he reached for it, it slipped away, and the emptiness echoed with mocking laughter. Then a memory implanted by the curse rose, feeling so genuine and solid and good, until a small voice whispered that it was a lie, invented to keep him away from his Grace, his true happiness. The memories fell apart, and the emptiness pushed further.

Memory. His relentless torturer.

So he sat. He sat without feeling. He tried to sit without thinking. He sat, and he stared at her bike, because no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't keep away. Maybe it hurt to remember her, but it hurt much worse to think of letting her go.

Jefferson leaned forward and gripped the rough wooden slats of the bench where he waited. It was by one of the few gates in the chain link fence that stretched behind the school. He looked across the yard at the line of small, brightly colored bikes parked in a line. A group of children ran past, laughing and chattering. He flinched and leaned back, shrinking against the bench, but he knew she wasn't with them. She was always in class at this time.

A slight movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention just as he heard high heels click over the schoolyard's concrete. Instinctively he left the bench and slid through the gate in the fence, backing away, making sure he could watch without being seen. But when he saw who he was watching, his hands clenched into fists.

Regina walked purposefully up to the row of bikes, then ran her manicured nails along a pink bike with a white basket. Jefferson was almost through the gate again before he forced himself to stop, to wait and see what she would do. Glancing around briefly, Regina pulled something out of her pocket, leaned over, and stuck it against the small yellow license plate that read "Paige." She straightened with a slight, self-confident smile on her face, stuck her hands into her pockets, and walked away.

Keeping his eyes on her until she was out of sight, Jefferson let out his breath gradually. He forced himself to move forward in measured steps, unsure whether the desire to run to the bike was stronger or weaker than the desire to run the other direction. He, like Regina, glanced around casually to make sure he was alone. Then he crouched down behind the bike, eyes level with the license plate.

_Which carriage is that?_

_ The Queen's._

_ At our house? Do you know her? _

_ Of course not. . . . I'm going to find out what she's doing here._

He reached out and pulled the playing card off of the bike's license plate, rubbing his thumb over the image. A white rabbit in a red waistcoat held out his pocket watch, dutifully keeping time, always worried about being late. Perhaps late for tea.

_Wouldn't this make the perfect guest for our tea parties, Papa?_

_That costs one silver._

_ It's okay, Papa. I don't need it. _

Turning the card over, he looked for words, a note, a message of some kind to let him know what Regina wanted. But the only words were "white rabbit," carefully printed above the image. The card _was_ the message. And Regina knew him well enough to know he would understand it. The card said she knew exactly where to find him and how to get his attention. It said she still remembered who he was. Most of all, it said she wanted to talk.

_ Do this one last favor for me . . . _

The school bell rang, and Jefferson left without looking back. He slid the card into his pocket, walking away even as he realized that he didn't know where to go. Returning to his house, where the walls made him feel trapped, the debris from his hat room grated against his mind, the madness made the air thick and impossible to breathe – it was out of the question. He couldn't keep hanging around the school – eventually someone would notice and get suspicious or, worse, Grace would notice. He had no friends to go to, and there were enough people he wanted to avoid to make staying on the streets risky. But his feet kept moving, and by the time they stopped, he realized there had only ever been one solution to where he would go.

The bell on the door of Granny's clanged as annoyingly as ever. Quickly glancing around to make sure no one he knew was in the small restaurant, Jefferson ducked his head and made his way to the booth in the far corner. Ruby came out of the back, cradling a menu and fidgeting with one of her black lace gloves. She set the menu on the table, then finally looked up.

"Jefferson!" Her eyes widened in obvious surprise, but she looked pleased. "Wow, I wasn't expecting to see you here. Well, I mean, you haven't been here for a while, and you've never come this early in the day . . . Anyway! Can I get you something? Do you want some tea, or . . ." She stopped talking and frowned, seeming, for the first time, to notice how he looked.

"Tea is fine."

"Anything else?"

"No."

She picked up the unopened menu slowly. "How about someone to talk to?"

Jefferson looked up at her and raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Not in a weird flirting way!" Ruby added quickly. It was the first time he'd ever seen her blush. "Just in a . . . normal way."

He felt himself smile, truly smile, for the first time in days.

"Ok, so maybe it is a little weird, it's just, I don't know." She went back to fiddling with her glove. "You seem troubled, or, worried about something. I just want to be sure everything's ok. If you want me to just shut up . . ."

"Ruby." He pursed his lips and folded his hands on top of the table. "What is insanity? What makes a person crazy?"

Ruby leaned against the booth opposite Jefferson. "Are we talking mentally? Emotionally? In their actions? Someone once said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

"I was afraid you'd say that," he muttered.

"I think that was Einstein." Her forehead wrinkled. "Or maybe it was Narcotics Anonymous.

"Definition wrapped in a fortune cookie, coming either from a genius or a twelve step program. Sounds about right."

"We'll go with Einstein. It sounds better."

Jefferson reached up to rub his scarf between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you think he was right? Judging by that definition, where's the line between insanity and dedication?"

Ruby shrugged. "Circumstances? Motivation?"

"Let's say, hypothetically, that you made a deal with someone once, and you lost the one thing in the world that was most important to you because of it. Would you make a deal with them again to try to get it back? Or would that be insanity?"

"Well, Granny always taught me that you have to fight for what you care about, but she also said to choose your battles wisely."

"Ruby! Stop jabbering and get to work!"

The young waitress rolled her eyes. "Speak of the devil . . ."

"Better choose your battle. I wouldn't want to go up against Granny."

Ruby's face became serious again as she looked at him closely. "Are you going to be ok, Jefferson? Really, is everything alright? Or is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, Ruby. But thank you."

"I'll bring you that tea."

As she walked away, Jefferson slipped the card out of his pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. He drummed his fingers on top of it until Ruby brought his tea, then stared at it as he drank. Memories of Regina played through his mind on an endless loop – their first meeting, her offer to him in his cottage, giving her word, walking back through the looking glass with her father, staring at him in surprise when he confronted her after arriving in Storybrooke, smiling sweetly when she'd found him in Granny's after Emma came. She was so powerful, could offer so much – could take it away in an instant. By the time he drank the last sip of tea, his grip on the cup had turned his knuckles white. He left the money on the table and slipped outside while Ruby was in the back.

Perhaps insanity was doing the same thing – going to the same person, making the same deal – and expecting different results. Perhaps insanity was diving down a rabbit hole, chasing a hope that could turn out to be a dream. He looked at the card in his hand.

"Alright, Regina," he whispered. "I'll follow your white rabbit."


End file.
